


Recovery

by Silver Lurker (Rachelmap2)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gen, M/M, Mystery, Not BtVS Comics Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 103,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachelmap2/pseuds/Silver%20Lurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander has been at loose ends since Sunnydale was destroyed a few months ago. Giles has a job for him if he's willing, but he needs Xander and his team to go to Pittsburgh on a simple mission first. Unfortunately, there's a complication...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: In Cleveland

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this fic and started working on it years ago, but it has languished unfinished ever since my job got too busy. I plan to change that now that I have more free time. ^_^
> 
> There are spoilers for all seasons of BtVS and up to mid-Season 4 of QaF (which was about when I started writing it). If you only read for ships, this story will probably not interest you much. It was beta-read long ago by the ever-patient Mofetash, but on further review I want to edit it some more here and there. All questions, criticism and comments are still welcome.
> 
> I own nothing!

Xander was slouched at the kitchen table talking on the 'phone when Giles finally found him. The conversation being nearly over, he stood in the shadow of the doorway and waited for Xander to finish.

“OK, thanks Carol. Call if you hear anything, OK? Good night.” He gently placed the receiver in the cradle, which was sitting on the table next to an open beer-bottle, cradled his forehead in his hands, and breathed out a deep sigh.

“Isn't midnight a bit late for calling?”

Xander looked up at him. “Not in California, which is where most of where my relatives happen to be. It's three hours earlier there.”

“Ah. I take it there's nothing...”

He shook his head.

“I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be. I warned them. Everybody with any scrap of self-preservation leaving town should have been a clue, but Dad and Mom were like: 'yeah, yeah, we'll go in a couple days' whenever I told them it was getting bad. Everything went so fast when it finally happened...” He rubbed his face, sighed again and changed the subject. “Anyway, what brings you down so late?'

“I was hoping to have a word with you before you turned in.”

Xander raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Feel free. Have several. Want a beer?”

“A beer would be lovely. I will, however, have some of what you're having.”

“Uh, that would be 'beer'.”

“No, it wouldn't.” He pulled out the chair on the other side of the round oak table, turned it, and sat down, the back of the chair between his legs and his forearms draped along the top of the backrest. Xander grinned at seeing him sitting like such a guy, and turning around in his chair, fished a bottle out of the fridge. He opened it and passed it to Giles, who drank a little, grimacing. 

“Spike used to make the exact same face. Must be a British thing.” Xander grinned.

“Spike knew what beer was.” Giles regarded the bottle for a moment and then raised it toward Xander. “And what it wasn't. Absent friends.” Xander nodded as they clinked the bottles together. There was a moment companionable of silence as they drank.

“So, what's on your mind,” Xander finally said.

Giles sighed. “I saw Faith today...”

“Not really a surprise there, considering we live in the same building and all.” He looked at his beer-bottle as he rolled it between his palms.

“She's worried about you.”

Xander shrugged. “She shouldn't be. I'm dealing,” he said.

“That's what she said. But going out on your own at night and patrolling is perhaps not the best way...”

“Hey, it has to be done.” He saluted Giles with his bottle, and smiled lightly. “And you're the one who wanted me to work on my hand-eye coordination.”

“In the training room, Xander. You've make amazing progress, but your loss of vision will need more than a mere ten months training to compensate for before you're quite... I mean...”

“Ready to rumble?”

“If you must put it like that, yes. How long have you been doing this?”

“Well... pretty much since we all got moved in here. About the time you decided 'martial art therapy' was the way to go.”

Giles regarded him dryly for a moment. “The proper order of these things is to first learn how to fight, and then go do it.”

“Yeah, well, I always was backward,” Xander said, with a lopsided smile.

Giles was not appeased. “This is no joking matter, Xander. I don't feel comfortable sending you out to...”

“When have you ever sent me out to do anything besides get donuts? I chose this when I was still a kid, and that was in spite of what you wanted,” He looked Giles directly in the eye, “and I'm choosing to do it now. I'm not that child anymore, so you can just drop this idea of protecting me, 'specially since you couldn't even stop me then.”

“It's not because I thought you were useless...” At Xander's sardonic look he added “all right, I did at first, but you've disproven that notion more times than I care to count. I just couldn't be responsible for... The truth is, I've not done well by you. And Willow.” Giles voice softened, his thoughts in the past.

“What! How?” Xander tensed in his chair; gripping his beer bottle. For Giles, of all people, to say that... It was wrong; up-side down wrong.

“I should have started training the two of you when I saw you were not going to walk away from...” Again, Giles hesitated.

“Have you slipped a gear? You were sent there for Buffy, not us. We were not your responsibility. And you had enough to worry about already. It's not like we had anything special—well, Willow did, with the computers and all. Now me, I—”

“No, hear me out. I disregarded both of you—”

“Well, we weren't slayers. Why should you—”

“ _Will_ you be quiet? ...Thank you. Now then, even after I knew what assets you both could be I took the two of you for granted. Don't look at me like that; I did. I ignored Willow's experimentation with magic because it was convenient for me to have a witch to work with. I didn't try to guide her until it was too late for her to accept it, and we both know what disaster nearly came of that. A disaster that you largely prevented, I might add. And you. I should have started teaching you to defend yourself long ago. It wouldn't have been hard, I don't think, not with the way you've taken to it now. I'm very sorry, and I do apologize.” The eyes behind the former librarian’s glasses were sincere and a bit troubled.

Xander, fidgeting with his bottle, had grown increasingly restless and shifty during his speech. He waited a moment to made sure Giles was done talking. “Hey, well, if you think you have to apologize, fine. Apology accepted. But I don't think there's any need for it at all. Now can we just forget about it? 'Cause this is just not what... um. Anyway, it's late. I'd better...”He made a small move to get up from his seat.

“I'm not done yet,” Giles said firmly.

Xander sat upright, looking very nervous indeed. “No. No more apologies, OK? You're starting to make me wiggy.”

“I'd say more than just 'starting.' No it's not an apology, but I do have a question, and maybe an offer. Xander, have you given much thought to your future?”

“I thought I'd just do the next thing. Find a job. Get a new place to live. Fight evil. That kind of stuff. Kind of a rut, I know, but it works for me. Why?”

“You know, you don't have to live on a hellmouth. There's nothing tying you here. Of all of us you are the most free to make a new life. Somewhere else, somewhere safe.”

“Because the one-eyed guy is dead weight?”

Giles pursed his lips in exasperation at the bitter question. “No more than the rest of us,” he said. “You're not sixteen any more; you know how bad things can get in a place like this. I am asking you in all seriousness, and I want you to think carefully about your answer: what is keeping you here? ”

Xander, realizing that this was not a hint that he should leave after all, was silent while he marshalled his thoughts. After a long moment of consideration he said, “You seem think that if I leave the hellmouth I'll be safe. The truth is there is no safety anywhere in the world. Think about it, if Buffy hadn't stopped Acathla, or if ADAM or Glory had won, would the people living in Iowa, or even China be 'safe' now? Of course not. And we've, no, I've helped keep them that way. Well, as much as they ever are. There are still plagues and murders and car crashes and stuff like that, but... wherever you go there's still danger, and eventually you're still going to die. And... since that's how life is, I'd rather be with my friends.”

Giles relaxed almost imperceptibly. “That's what I thought you'd say. Well, since that is the way you feel about it, I'd like to offer you a job. You know I've been working on rebuilding the Watcher's council?” Xander nodded. “I'd like you to consider joining it. Be a founding member.”

The word Spike used to use in cases like this was 'gob-smacked.' It took a few seconds for Xander to remember to shut his mouth. “What?”

“You heard me.”Giles look a long sip of beer, looking just a little smug.

“Why? I mean why me? I'm not so good with the fighting stuff, and you know how I feel about the research stuff. Remember how well it worked the last time we tried it?”

“You're better than most at the 'fighting stuff'- no it's true, and if you stopped comparing yourself to the slayers for a moment you'd know I'm right. As for the 'research stuff,' lets worry about that when we have books to actually do research in.”

“Then why?” He just couldn’t take it in and make sense of it.

“Well, there are several reasons actually. You have accumulated several years of actual practical experience in fighting demons, which is more than most watchers ever got... You know how important the fight is, and you're not going to quit because you don't think it's your business... And I want... I hope... that the new council will be able to avoid some of the mistakes of the old council. I think you'd do your best to make sure of that.” Xander looked at him quizzically. Giles sighed. “Over the years I had come to see a certain arrogance in the council's way of... guiding, well, not 'guiding' more like...”

“Controlling? Exploiting?”

“Yes, or worse. 'Enslaving' wouldn't be too far off the mark. From the beginning they've seen the slayers as expendable; tools to be used and broken.”

Xander nodded, his expression sour.

“Yes, well, it was a mindset that has infected the council from the very beginning, but it's not one I could ever see you promoting.”

He snorted derisively.

“And then there are the watchers themselves. Almost all of us were chosen and trained from childhood because of family connections to the council. Whether or not we were suited for it, in many cases. When I realized what their plans for me were. I rebelled... Well, you know what the results of that adventure were. I wasn't the only one either, nor even the worst such case.

“Yeah, let's not forget Faith's fake watcher. What was her name?”

“Gwendolyn Post. No, let's not. And then there's Wyndham-Pryce. He wasn't nearly experienced enough to be made responsible for one slayer, let alone two, and we almost lost Faith permanently as a result.”

“Actually, looking back on it? That wasn't all his fault. You and I both contributed our bits to that mess.”

“Yes, well... yes. My point, though, is that mere knowledge is not enough. We need people who are willing, brave and honest. Adults.”

“Yes, I totally agree, so why are you asking me?”

It was Giles turn to look sardonic. “I was hoping you'd help me find some people.”

“Oh. Well. I'm new here in Cleveland but I'm sure...”

“I asked you because you are one of the best candidates I can think of, you silly pillock,” said Giles with annoyed affection. “I've been thinking about it ever since the old council was destroyed.”

“What about Willow?”

“Willow's a given, but we need more than just her. And Buffy, of course. There's never been a slayer on the council in all the years since it was formed. Perhaps that's because they all died too young. We are going to change that. Robin is a likely candidate too. Faith still has some things to work out, but she might do well, eventually. Dawn and the other slayers are too young and inexperienced yet... am I missing anyone?

“What about Andrew? He knows about research and demons.” Giles shot him a 'get serious' look. “And he's gotten a lot better about... stuff.” Xander smiled. “Really”

“He's still rather immature.”

“He's only a year or two younger than me.”

“And a lifetime younger in experience. How old were you when you first started taking responsibility for yourself? It was sometime before I got to know you, I'm sure.” Xander shrugged non-committally and looked at his beer bottle. “Well, there's no need for you to decide right away. In fact a decision like this needs very careful consideration.” Giles got up, rinsed out his beer bottle, and threw it in the bin Willow had marked for recyclables. “I'm going to turn in now: I've got a busy day tomorrow. Bloody bureaucrats. Good night.” Xander watched him walk out of the kitchen, his mind still in a whirl, but now dealing with the possibilities of Giles’ proposal.

“Good night,” he mumbled back. He didn't go to bed until many hours later.


	2. The Briefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Giles gets good news and Xander gets a mission or three.

The entryway of the new Slayers and Watchers facility in Cleveland was just about the most uncomfortable place in the whole building. There was nowhere to sit, and it was always covered with dirt, sawdust, plaster dust, or paint drips. Nowadays, it was also cold and drafty. Ever since Giles had signed the deed to the old tenement building, the only times he waited there for Xander were when some new problem required his expertise immediately (although how Giles had gotten the idea he knew everything about ancient plumbing and electrical systems too was a mystery). So when Xander came back from his almost-daily trip to the hardware store to find Giles waiting in the front hall, this was not usually a good sign. Normally the result would be having to do an intervention with yet another contractor or making yet another trip back to the hardware store. Giles waiting at the front door and grinning? That was a sight Xander didn't see often. To tell the truth, it was kind of unnerving.

“Good news? You're looking perky.”

Giles suppressed the smile for all of one second. “I am not 'perky.' I've never been 'perky' in my life. But yes, Buffy and Dawn called, and there has been some good news.”

Ah, that explained him waiting there and the grin. Good news from Buffy and Dawn was Xander's favorite kind of good news too. “Oh? Sorry I missed them. What did they say? Are they having a good time?”

“Oh, yes, They're enjoying every moment of the trip, and Buffy sounds years younger too. It was just the thing for them. Here, put those packages down, and we can go talk about this out of this draught. We really ought to do something about that...”He turned and headed for his office—it was more of a sitting room—while Xander dropped his boxes of nails, wood screws and angle irons with a muffled 'thump' on the stack of folded drop cloths that lay along the left-hand wall before following the older man down the hall.

“So, where are they now?”

“In Kent. Sightseeing. Learning to ride. Sidesaddle, in Dawn's case.” Giles opened his office door, gestured at Xander in, and followed after first looking up and down the hall to make sure they were alone before he shut the door. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer, conspiratorial. “Even better; they've found a possible source of resources and acquisitions for our library!"

"Oh?"

"They were able to look up that old friend of my father's.”

Xander threw him a questioning look.

“Oh. You were probably off fixing something when Buffy and I had that conversation. Right, then. Miles Craye was another watcher--from one of the old families--and he retired there due to poor health about ten years ago. It turns out he's acquainted with the watcher who was assigned to monitor the Cleveland hellmouth, and he was able to give Buffy his name and address.”

“Finally! So where is he?”

“In Pittsburgh. That's why we haven't been able to find him.” Giles went over to an armchair by the fireplace and settled himself, while Xander hung up his coat. “You look cold. Would you like some tea? There's a pot under the cozy there.”

“Thanks. That actually sounds good.” There were a few clean mugs next to the cozy on Giles' desk. Xander filled one with the dark, smoky tea, stirring in two heaping spoons of sugar. He warmed his hands on the mug as he took a long sip, and sprawled back on the couch with his feet to the fire.“So. Pittsburgh. Why there? It's so far away.”

“He's in his seventies. A bit too old to face the rigours of living on a hellmouth, don't you think? Pittsburgh is a perfect choice, actually. It's close enough to monitor the situation here but has very little in the way of demonic activity itself because the Cleveland hellmouth tends to attract all the demons in this area. I wish the the council had been as thoughtful in my case...”

“Wait a minute. I don't quite get the 'lack of demonic activity' going on there. Pittsburgh is about as far from Cleveland as LA is—was—from Sunnydale, right?”

“Yes. About 150 miles, give or take.”

“Then why is Angel so busy in LA? And when I was stuck in Oxnard that summer I saw plenty of—OK, well not plenty, but still more vampires than I expected outside of good ol' Sunny D. Why are there lots of them in LA and Oxnard, but almost none in Pittsburgh?”

“Ah! A very good question and it has a simple answer too. LA, being 'glamourous,' is nearly as attractive to demons as a hellmouth is. There was a lot of of demonic traffic between LA and Sunnydale, and most of it passed through Oxnard. Now that the Sunnydale hellmouth is closed that should have pretty much stopped. Pittsburgh, on the other hand, is not especially attractive to demons. People don't flock there in the hope of earning fame or fortune, you see.”

“Demons care about that?” Xander hadn't guessed that would be a motivation for them...

“A fair number of them do, amazingly enough. Now then, the watcher in Pittsburgh, a Mr. Dent—yes, Xander, Dent. You can stop smirking any time now—”

“Arthur Dent?”

“No. Phillip. At any rate Dent is very well-known in certain circles. He was, of course, supplied with all the standard texts and he also has a rather comprehensive personal library of... of... well, more sensitive materials with him, if what I've heard about him is to be believed. I'm hoping you'll agree to go there and retrieve the council's books, or as many of them as you can persuade him to part with, as well as anything else he may feel moved to donate.”

“Be still my heart. You mean we may actually have books to do research in after all? Darn. And after you told me it wasn't going to be a problem for me too.” He drank another long sip of tea as he slyly watched Giles over the rim of the mug.

“Oh! Well, I daresay... Oh, you're taking the piss, aren't you.” Xander grinned. “Right then. I need you to do it; you are the only one of us I can shake loose who has any experience shifting large loads like I hope this one will be. Hired movers wouldn't understand the possible dangers. And I want you to... To take Andrew and Kennedy,” he finished in a rush. Xander looked at him; a sort of 'you're kidding, right?' look. “Yes, you heard me correctly.”

“Why?”

“You're going to need some assistance getting to Mr. Dent's home and moving the books. The extra mirrors we've mounted in the SUV help, but you just haven't had enough practice yet to get used to... That is to say...”

“Driving it with one eye tied behind my back?”

Giles winced.

"You don't have to be so frickin' polite about it. It's not going to make my eye grow back, OK? So just relax. No. When I asked 'why?' I didn't mean 'why should I take a team?' I meant 'why that team'?"

“Well, at least one of your party should be a slayer.”

“But you said you didn't think there would be trouble.”

Giles sighed. “Yes, and I have such a good track record with that prediction.”

“But she and Willow...”

“Yes.”

“And then _we_...”

“Quite.”

“So why send her with me? Us.”

Giles took off his glasses and chewed on an ear-piece. Xander couldn't recall seeing him do that before. “Ha- _hum_... Well as you know... When two people come together during a time of danger or stress... The annoying habits and attitudes, the pet peeves that are subsumed by the emergency re-emerge in full force once the crisis is over, and as they learn about each other... the surprises are often... Displeasing.” He sighed.

“I'm only half blind, Giles, I figured that much for myself. I just haven't figured out your next leap of logic. They need to work this stuff out.”

“Agreed, but sometimes a separation... a chance for them to retreat to neutral corners, as it were...”

Xander sighed and nodded. “Might help if it's just for a few days. This is going to be one of these learning experiences you old watcher-guy types are so buggy about, isn't it?” He grimaced. “Cause those are just _so_ much fun. Oh, don't get me wrong; I don't dislike Kennedy, but...”

“I know, I know. Don't worry though. Your mission may be somewhat uncomfortable, but I doubt it will be dangerous. She can be abrasive sometimes, but she's a dedicated slayer and she'll do her best to keep you from harm. Not that anything is likely to happen in Pittsburgh. Besides, I expect you already know that one need not get along with people in every aspect to work with them effectively.”

“That's the truth. Some of the guys I work with in construction?” He shook his head. “I'd never get _anything_ done.”

“Just so.”

“And Andrew? Not that I mind.”

Giles coughed. "He's the only one available who's familiar with ancient scripts. I wish I could go, but I'm the only one of us with access to the remaining council financial assets. Getting the funds transferred here and supervising the workmen you arranged for is taking up all the time I'm not spending on training the slayers. Dawn won't be back for another month at the very least, and we might have to use the texts before then. And Robin's just not up to it yet.”

“I thought he was all fixed up now. They took out his stitches more than a month ago.”

“He's doing quite well for someone who had to run for his life after he was stabbed in the gut. He doesn't have slayer healing, though. Besides, Andrew... I think having a useful task to do will do him some good. Not that cooking for all of us isn't useful, but I think he could do with a change.”

“I thought he was doing better.”

“I think he is. You seem to have a knack for cheering him up.”

“Oh. OK, then. Looks like I've got a team.”

************************************

Xander had already been up for two hours by the time they left 'The PMS Palace' (as Dawn had dubbed their new home) at about 7:30 the next morning. No hardship there, really. Even before they'd left California, Giles had taken to rousting him out of bed at five-thirty every morning for "therapy." Running and weights, plus fencing, quarterstaff or whatever martial art he felt Xander needed to work on. After that talk in the kitchen, Xander was beginning to wonder if there was more to it than just helping him recover his co-ordination, but he was too afraid of Giles' apologizing again to ask. He was looking forward to Pittsburgh. The first thing he was going to do in the hotel tomorrow was sleep in.

At first the ride to Pittsburgh had been gloomy. Andrew had done his best to be cheerful, but Xander's tense preoccupation with driving, and Kennedy's uncharacteristic silence dampened his enthusiasm for car games and other forms of amusement. She might have been sulking over Giles putting Xander in charge of the mission, but he didn't think so, even though she called him 'Boss' in an ironic tone, and far more often than he liked. He'd run into her last night after her own 'briefing' with Giles and had thought at the time she'd been more amused than upset. Odds were she and Willow'd had another tiff.

The atmosphere lightened a couple hours later after Xander admitted he was getting a headache, and that he'd appreciate being a passenger for a while. Kennedy won the toss, and called driver's privilege to choose the radio stations (Spanish pop). Andrew took shotgun. Not to very much to either of the men's surprise she sang along whenever songs she liked came on. Rather more to their surprise she sang pretty well. By the time it was Andrew's turn to drive she was in a much better mood. Xander was mostly dozing by then. Andrew let Kennedy continue to choose the stations, saying he was enjoying the music too.

He woke up just as Andrew pulled into the parking lot of the hotel Willow had made their reservations at. She'd pouted a bit when Xander vetoed her first choice, the Omni William Penn for being too 'fancy', but he'd insisted that they needed to keep a low profile. She didn't see why but had agreed to book them at the cheapest decent business hotel she could find near Dent's address instead. It looked like a large pile of brown, tan and white children's blocks. Inside, the lobby was decorated with a beige geometric-patterned carpet and dotted here and there with low-seated rust- and avocado-upholstered armchairs. It looked like its designer had pulled a Rip van Winkle in the '60s and had just been woken up. All three eyed the decor with disfavor before heading to the front desk.

"This was _your_ idea," Kennedy hissed at Xander.

"Well, it's not fancy," Xander sighed. Andrew just nodded sadly.

They checked in and took their bags to their suite, which turned out comfortable if blandly inoffensive. Xander found Dent's address in the Pittsburgh city map in the hotel's copy of the Yellow Pages while Kennedy and Andrew were freshening up. It was only a few blocks away; an easy walk in the unseasonably warm weather they'd been having the last few days. He remembered the rest of what Giles'd said the day before as he had written out this address at his desk. “Fortunately Craye is the sort to keep meticulous records, or it still would have been very difficult to find Dent. He could have been assigned anywhere at a safe distance from Cleveland, and he's ex-directory. We still don't know his phone number.”

“Just imagine. A watcher keeping meticulous records. Ex-what?”

“Oh. Unlisted. All the files regarding Mr. Dent's posting were destroyed when the Council was blown up” Giles had looked up at him from the notepad he was copying Dent's address on. “Have you given any thought to my proposal?”

“Yeah, lots, Still thinking about it. I just don't know yet...”

“No hurry. It _is_ a life-altering decision I'm asking you to make. Rather like—hmhmm... Yes, well... We can discuss it after you come back.”

Xander had winced, guessing just what other kind of life-altering decision Giles had been about to compare it to, and returned to the topic of finding Phillip Dent. “Can't Wills find his number? I really don't want to just show up on his doorstep with no warning. Might give the old guy a heart attack or something.”

“Watchers are generally tougher than that. No, she's working on it, but there are many more barriers to hackers in place these days than there were five years ago. Besides, she refuses to use magic for this without a pressing reason. Frustrating, but there it is.”

So they ate sandwiches and fries at the Hotel Grill and went to look for Mr. Dent.


	3. Looking for Mr. Dent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the mission has a hiccup.

Xander leaned as far back as he could from the sweating, red-nosed man in the doorway of what used to be Phillips Dent's 4th Avenue apartment.

“Don't know.” Bob Arluk put his right palm to his forehead, splayed his fingers out into his receding hair like a starfish attacking a stubborn clam and squeezed hard before coughing violently into the crook of his his bathrobe sleeve.

Xander smiled apologetically. “We're really sorry to bother you, but if you have _any_ id—”

“Landlord. 555-2417.”

“Tha—” The slamming door cut Andrew off. “Well, that was rude,” he complained, after the elevator's door had closed behind them. “It's not like we knew he had a cold.”  
  
“I think his cold is spelled S-C-O-T-C-H. He reeked.” said Kennedy.  
  
“My experienced nose smelled something more of the bourbon family, but yeah,” Xander shrugged, “not our problem.”  
  
Andrew ran his thumbs under the straps of his backpack, and settled it into a more comfortable position. “What do we do now?”  
  
“Track down the landlord, of course,” Kennedy said. “Where's your cell phone, 'Boss'?”  
  
“Sunnydale.” Along with many more valuable things...

 She frowned. “Haven't you gotten a new one _yet_?”

 “That's OK,” Andrew interjected hastily, “We can use mine.”

************************************

The landlord, Mr. William Porter, did not sound to overjoyed to discuss his former tenant, but he agreed to meet them in his office in half an hour. Since it was a mere two blocks away, they had plenty of time left to speculate on what had happened to the missing Mr. Dent while they waited for him in the lobby. He turned out to be an active-looking silver-haired man in his late sixties wearing a slightly rumpled purplish-gray suit and a deeply reserved expression. He waved them into various chairs and offered them coffee, which they declined, before getting down to business. “I understand you're looking for a former tenant of mine. Are you, perhaps, family of his?”  
  
“No, we're more like business associates.” Mr. Porter looked faintly skeptical at this. Xander went on quickly. “We got his address from an old friend of his in England, but it turns out he doesn't live there any more. We were hoping you could help us?”  
  
“I see. Well, I'm sorry to say Mr. Dent has passed away.”  
  
“Oh.” The three of them looked at each other. Andrew's expression was alarmed; Kennedy was looking slightly belligerent. Xander spoke quickly. “I'm sorry to hear that. Was it unexpected?”  
  
“Yes, it was. His body was found in the Monongahela River about two years ago. The police were treating it as a suspicious death.”  
  
“Murder...” Andrew looked green. “How...” He swallowed hard. Kennedy bit her lip.  
  
“I see this is a shock to you.”  
  
“You could say that, yes,” said Xander with grim understatement, modelled on Giles' usual reaction to bad news “We'd appreciate anything you could tell us.”  
  
“Unfortunately, there's not much I can say about it. I last saw Mr. Dent... just a moment.” He pulled a leather-bound day planner out of a desk drawer on his right and began to thumb through it. “Yes... I last saw Mr. Dent on February 17th, shortly before… Whatever it was happened. He had dropped by to ask permission to build in some more bookshelves... and the police came by to interview me about three weeks later; right after they identified his body... Yes, on the 11th of March. There wasn't much I could tell them about Mr. Dent personally; we hardly ever saw each other. He was a quiet tenant, always paid his rent for the year in advance in the last week of December. A very pleasant man, was my impression.  
  
“What about the bookshelves?” Mr. Porter looked at Xander oddly. “I mean, did you let him put them in? I'm in the trade, you see.”  
  
“Oh, yes, of course. There was no reason not to. He had fifteen years left on his lease, after all. They were very nicely done too, very handsome, just as I had expected. When he moved in, fifteen or so years before, Mr. Dent told me he had a rather large collection of old and rare books so that I could arrange for extra security; locks, alarms, and so forth. I was not at all surprised when he told me he needed to put in more shelves. True collectors can't seem to restrain themselves when it comes to their passion, and Mr. Dent had the income to indulge it.”  
  
Andrew nodded wisely and opened his mouth to speak. Kennedy 'accidentally' tapped his foot with hers and gave him a look.  
  
“Do the police suspect the books as a motive?” asked Xander.  
  
“They should. The apartment did not particularly look as though it had been ransacked at that time, but I saw that there were some empty spaces on many of the shelves when I let the police in to investigate his...” He cleared his throat. “Of course I pointed this out to them at the time. I'm not sure they paid any attention. When I notified them that I was letting the rooms out to another tenant, they seemed completely indifferent.” Mr. Porter mused on the unsatisfactory performance of the police. “I was interviewed exactly twice by a Detective Bowen, and I haven't heard from him since, not even when I've left messages. ”  
  
“I see. I guess we had better go talk to him.” Mr. Porter raised an eyebrow. “The old friend of his who gave us his address will want to know... What happened. As of the day before yesterday he hadn't heard.”  
  
“Yes,” added Kennedy, “and we don't know whether Mr. Dent's family has been told either. Do we?” She looked at Xander.  
  
“I have no idea.” He sighed. “We'd better assume not.”

Andrew and Kennedy nodded somberly.  
  
“Well, Detective Bowen told me they were going to notify them; you can ask him. Here's the card he left with me.” He pulled it out of the day planner and gave it to Xander. “You might as well keep it. I doubt anything new's going to happen after all this time.”  
  
Andrew gave him an austere look. “We happened. Shouldn't you tell him about us? We could be secret agents or something. Maybe we have some information that will blow this case wide open.”  
  
Both Mr. Porter's eyebrows went up. “Well, if you are, and you do, you can tell him all about it when you see him. That **is** what you are planning to do, right?”  
  
“We could just be saying that— Ow! Quit it!”  
  
Kennedy smiled brightly at Mr. Porter. “Sometimes he gets a little carried away. Too much X-files.” Andrew looked indignant, but kept his mouth shut. Kennedy pinched like a snapping turtle.  
  
“I see.” Mr. Porter snorted with faint amusement. “Well, thank you for showing such an interest in poor Mr. Dent. I hope I've been able to help.”  
  
“You've helped a lot, sir, Thank you for your time,” Xander said. “We'd best be on our way.” They all rose and shook hands good-bye. As they left Mr. Porter's office Xander asked; “Just one more thing, sir, if it's not too much trouble? We may need some information, especially if the police haven't been keeping on it. May we call you again if we have any more questions? I promise we'll try not to take up too much of your time.”  
  
“Of course, but... you're not planning to investigate the murder yourselves, are you?” He glanced at Andrew.  
  
Xander looked surprised. “Of course not. We wouldn't know where to begin.” Kennedy and Andrew (with a little nudging) nodded and murmured their agreement with this statement. “It's just that his friends or family may ask about things the police don't know. We won't know ourselves until we've talked with everyone.”  
  
“In that case, yes, of course.” He nodded. They nodded back, said goodbye again, and left.

************************************

Kennedy was the first to speak when they got back on the street again. “OK, that was a nasty surprise, What do we do next, 'Boss'?  
  
Xander shrugged. “We investigate, of course.”  
  
“You mean we're going to try to catch the killer? I don't wanna sound callous here, but isn't that kind of out of our jurisdiction?”  
  
“If the killer is human, yeah, sure, but he may not be. If Mr. Dent was killed by a demon we need to take care of it. But the main thing we need to find out about is the books.”  
  
“Yeah, the quaint and mysterious volumes of forgotten lore,” Andrew mis-quoted.  
  
“Right, them. We need them. We need to make sure the wrong people don't have them. And the only place I can think of to start is Mr. Dent's murder.” Andrew and Kennedy murmured their agreement.  
  
“And it might be true, what you said about his family not being told,” she added. “So now we go to the cops, I guess. What's the address on the card?”  
  
“It says '400 Boulevard of the Allies'. Do you have that guidebook with you, Andrew?''  
  
“Of course.” He pulled his pack off and rummaged in it for a moment. “Here it is... Uh-huh... The map says that's four blocks from here. And my feet hurt.”  
  
“Come on Andrew, these are itty bitty city blocks. We'll be there in no time.” Kennedy bounced up.  
  
“Whoa, hold on there, and likewise wait up. Let's make sure this Bowen guy is there for us to talk to first,” said Xander.  
  
“Why? We can find out when we get there, and if he isn't we 'll just talk to some other cop.”  
  
“Yes, but do we want to go charging in without thinking of some kind of strategy? They're not going to just accept some vague bullshit about us being business associates of the dead guy's.”  
  
“Why not?” said Andrew, “Mr. Porter did.”  
  
“No he didn't,” said Kennedy. “He just didn't care. Xander's right.” Andrew looked at her in surprise. “What? I can say Xander's right, can't I?”  
  
“Sure you can. You just never do.” They were silent for a moment, then Andrew turned to Xander and asked “so what do we do next?”  
  
“Much as I hate to say this; it's research time.” Xander made a wry face. “Where's the nearest public library?”  
  
“Oooh! Good idea! Maybe they'll have Internet. Umm...Oh! There's one over near Wood Street. The book says they're only open until six, though.”  
  
OK, that's about two and a half hours away. Lets go there, dig up what we can in two hours, and then get dinner. Sound like a plan?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kennedy sighed. “I hate research.”  
  
“C'mon! It'll be fun,” said Andrew, and he trotted off around the corner with Kennedy and Xander trudging along behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've revised this chapter somewhat before re-posting it here, so if anybody spots any mistakes or has other feedback, I'll gladly hear it. 
> 
> ^_^


	4. The Library and After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our gang begin to get their bearings.

“How do you guys wanna split up?” Xander asked. Andrew was pouting in disappointment at the line of public computers, but Kennedy just shrugged. “There's only one computer open. Who wants go online?”

“Not me.” Kennedy grimaced. “I've done my share of sitting for today.”

“It's all yours, buddy.”

Andrew moved eagerly toward the computer station and then hesitated and looked back at him. “Are you sure?”

Xander shook his head. “If I have to stare at a computer screen for the next two hours that headache'll come back on me for sure. Besides, your google-fu is the best. We'll meet you back here when the library closes.”

“OK.” Andrew went over cheerfully settled into the hard chair and started a browser while Kennedy and Xander went to the periodicals desk to look up and photocopy whatever articles about the case they could find. They agreed to search simultaneously in different newspapers starting from the time Dent's body was found, with Kennedy taking the Post archives, and Xander the Tribune. The next two hours were very dry ones.  
  
They met at the entrance at six with depressingly small stacks of paper. Andrew had made a friend of the librarian in charge of the computer terminals during his frequent trips to the printer and the one occasion when his turn was up, and he had to wait for another one. The librarian had recommended a good, cheap Italian restaurant nearby. Not having any better ideas they walked over to try it out. It was not a very large place, and it looked a little run-down, but the customers seemed happy. And it smelled really, really good. Xander declared that this was the place; the others agreed. They had to wait a few minutes until one of the red-and-white checkered tables was free, so they whiled away the time looking over a menu and choosing their dinners. They ordered as soon as they were seated.  
  
After the waitress left, they started to compare their findings. All accounts agreed the facts in the case were these: nearly two years before on March 3rd, a dockworker had left a line unfastened on a barge leaving the Duquesne Wharf. When the crew pulled the cable aboard they found a human leg fouled in it, and immediately called the police. Divers found the rest of the body over the next two days.  
  
“So,” said Andrew, “they had all the... bits by March 6th. They didn't get in touch with Porter until the eleventh. Why wait so long?”  
  
“Maybe they had trouble identifying him.” Kennedy frowned. “He wasn't all in one piece, y'know. So... If he went in right after he saw his landlord about the bookshelves... He could have been in there... Oh… Fourteen days? Would he be falling apart by then, or did they chop him up first?” She looked at Xander challengingly. “What do you think, 'Boss'? You're the one with all the experience.”  
  
Xander considered the chain of events for a moment. “You're forgetting the shelves. If he had to get permission to have them installed that means they were built in, not freestanding.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“So that can take time. Especially if they're large, or if there are any snags. And then there's the money. If Dent disappeared before the workmen were paid off, they'd have made a stink. Maybe even put a lien on the property. Porter didn't mention anything about that; I'm betting it didn't happen.”  
  
“Not if Dent paid in advance.”  
  
“Yes!” Xander lit up. “But that's not the way contract jobs like this should be done. If you pay in advance and you aren't happy with how it turns out, you can't do squat about it. For expensive jobs like this? It's better to draw up a contract and pay **maybe** half in advance. You put the rest into an escrow account, and they don't get it until you've inspected their work and signed off on it. Keeps the contractor motivated—and honest, you see.”  
  
She shrugged. “They were just some shelves. How much could they be?”  
  
“Ho… Pretty expensive, let me tell you!” Xander shook his head. “And did Dent sound like the kind of guy who'd settle for cheap crap for his babies? Porter didn't seem to think so.”  
  
She thought about it a moment, and nodded. “Yeah, right, and Porter did strike me as someone who knows good quality when he sees it. Remember his suit?”  
  
“His suit?” Xander asked. “I guess it looked comfortable but what about it?”  
  
I thought it looked nice,” Andrew said.  
  
“You better think it 'looked nice',” Kennedy said. “My uncle bought a linen suit a lot like that from Dolce and Gabbana that set him back about a thousand bucks. Of course,” she added sourly, “Uncle Dougie's a pinhead. He could have gotten the same suit on eBay for half off, but he wanted to brag about it.”  
  
The men were silent for a moment. “OK, so, he likes quality things,” said Xander.  
  
“So, we need to find out who put the shelves in, how long it took them to do that, and when they were paid off, right?” Andrew said.  
  
“Yeah, for starters. There are probably more questions we'll need to ask them” said Xander. “Like whether he made the final payment in person, or if someone else did it for him. I'll call Porter tomorrow and ask for their number.”  
  
“Right.” Andrew began to write questions and notes on a paper napkin. “OK, what's next?”  
  
“The body,” said Kennedy, “We need to know how long he was dead before he was identified. That'll tell us how long his library was vulnerable.  
  
He kept on scribbling. “Right. All we know right now is that it was about two, maybe three weeks. Anybody could have gotten into his apartment and taken all the books and whatever else in that time.”  
  
“The autopsy report will tell us that, probably.” Kennedy frowned. “How are we going to get it? There's no way they'll just hand it over to us.”  
  
“I can get it,” said Andrew.  
  
“You can?” she asked.  
  
“I know a spell that makes people ignore whoever it's cast on. I can just walk in there, make copies of everything and walk out.”  
  
“Wow,” said Xander, “that's so cool. You've never done that before.”  
  
“That you know about.” Andrew did his best to look mysterious.  
  
“Why didn't you use it when we went to fight at the Hellmouth?”  
  
He deflated slightly. “Oh, well... It's kind of hit-or-miss at a hellmouth. It doesn't work very well with magically influenced humans—which includes a lot of people born and raised on hellmouths. And witches, slayers, werewolves... people like that? It doesn't work on them either. Plus if you use it too much, you really turn invisible; for keeps.”  
  
“Really?” said Xander in a very low tone, “I wonder...”  
  
“And it doesn't work at all on most demons. But in Pittsburgh? No problemo. I just do the spell and wait until I know it's working, and then I can waltz right in.”  
  
“OK then,” said Xander, “me for the carpenters, Andrew goes to the morgue, I guess that leaves you to grill the detective.”  
  
Don't be too rough on him, OK?” said Andrew.  
  
“Ah ha ha ha ha, you're so funny,” said Kennedy. “Listen, about this spell you're going to use?”  
  
Before he could answer the waitress broke in. “Who's the cheese ravioli?” It took a few minutes until she'd passed the plates, grated cheese, and done all the other things people at a restaurant are apt to decide they need when they have a waitress around. He had to wait until the last glass of water was re-filled and she'd left.  
  
“What about it?” asked Andrew  
  
“What about what?” she said.  
  
“My spell. What about it?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. It sounds kind of risky. How much is too much? Before you turn invisible, I mean.”  
  
“Um... well, just once a week, or so is safe. That's what the book said.”  
  
She frowned. “Staying invisible for life doesn't sound like much fun.” Xander, his mouth full of ravioli, nodded rapidly and gave a muffled assent.  
  
“It's just the one time.”  
  
“Not if something else turns up and we need to get more stuff from there later. Willow says you guys,” she pointed at Xander with her fork, “just about lived in the morgue back in Sunnydale.”  
  
“We mostly we just had to go there two or three times a month. Sometimes more, if there was a big bad on the loose. Look, can we not talk about my past visits to the county coroner while I'm eating?”  
  
“Especially since your ravioli has tomato sauce on it?” she smiled impishly.  
  
“Thank you so very much for helping me stay on my diet.”  
  
“But you get my point, right?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Andrew?”  
  
“Yeah, OK, so first thing I'll do is see how their security works and what I need to do to get around it if I need to go back. That way I'll only have to use the spell the one time.”  
  
“Sounds good,” she said.  
  
Dinner was excellent.  
  
The next morning at 5:30 am Xander discovered that Giles had put Kennedy in charge of his 'therapy' as long as they were in Pittsburgh, and that she'd arranged a temporary membership at a nearby gym as a 'surprise' the day before. No wonder she'd been amused.


	5. Eating Lunch Alone...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Xander's got some things to think about.

Xander's head was throbbing again when he got back to the hotel. Andrew and Kennedy were still out, so he took an ibuprofen, left a note and went out again, hoping the walk would ease the ache. It helped. He'd wandered all the way to Liberty Street before the throbbing had eased enough for the smells from a nearby diner to remind him that breakfast had been many hours ago. Suddenly, he was nearly shaking from hunger. Not good for thinking. Probably explained some of the headache too. He went into the nearly empty diner and took a seat in a booth at the back facing the door.

“What can I getcha, hon?” the waitress almost murmured with a hoarse voice that sounded like she was much more used to shouting.

He must look as bad as he felt. “Um… The classic burger, please. Can I get that medium?”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“Maybe later, thanks.”

She confirmed his order, smiled, and went back behind the counter to pass the order back to the cook.  
  
Time passed. The other customers paid up and drifted out. Soon Xander, the waitress, a waiter who was messing around with a sketchpad at the counter, and the unseen cook were the only people left. He sat with his elbows on the table and his forehead cradled in the palms of his hands until his burger came. By the time he'd finished his coleslaw and the last fry, the headache was gone.  
  
“Well, you're looking almost human again,” 'Debbie' said around the wad of gum in her mouth, and grinned. He was right about her having kept her voice down earlier. She even looked loud with that frizzy red hair, and all those buttons on her rainbow-colored vest. What was a 'PFLAG MOM' anyway?  
  
Xander smiled back. “Nothing wrong a good meal couldn't fix.”  
  
“Too bad we only got Bill's cooking,” she said, and snickered.  
  
“I heard that!” drifted back from the kitchen. Debbie's grin widened. “You want anything?” asked the cook, “I'm gonna take a break.”  
  
“I'm OK,” she called back to Bill, and looked down at Xander. “You should have dessert. You got to keep your strength up. You don't want to get another headache, do you?”  
  
Xander smiled up at her. “I don't know... Any recommendations?”  
  
“A lot of people like the lemon bars.”  
  
“Sounds good. Can I have one and a cup of coffee?”  
  
“Sure. Regular or unleaded?”  
  
“Regular, please.” Xander pulled out his notebook as she cleared away the dishes and brought back a lemon bar and filled his coffee cup. He began to go over the morning's events after she went back to do something behind the counter.

  
Things had gone smoothly at first. Porter had given him the number of Maitland Cabinet-makers with no more demurral than “Are you sure you're not investigating Dent's death?”

Xander had assured him that he really did have a friend who was going to need a library-full of good bookshelves shortly, and who had asked him to look into it. He chose to interpret 'Very well Xander, perhaps you're right' liberally. He'd called the cabinetmaker's number right after Porter hung up.  
  
“...a friend of mine is looking to have some bookshelves built in and your shop was recommended as one of the best in the area... Would this morning be OK? Now, if that's convenient for you. I'm in Pittsburgh; the downtown area... Uh-huh... OK. I'll be there in about an hour then.”  
  
The drive over had taken more like an hour and a half. Maitland's Cabinetry was not actually in Pittsburgh, but just over the Ohio state line; back the way they'd come the day before. He he'd wished he'd been awake then. Driving in an unfamiliar city with one eye missing was a double handicap, and he'd thought that by the time he was back at the hotel again he likely would have a bad headache—he could feel it starting in his empty eye socket right even then, and had to take just a moment after arriving to pull himself together. The aromatic wood shop smell had helped.  
  
“Steve Maitland? I'm Xander Harris; we spoke on the phone about an hour and a half ago.”  
  
“Nice to meet you Mr. Harris, please call me Steve.”  
  
“Call me Xander, then. Mr. Harris is... was my father.” Steve hadn't said anything; only nodded understandingly and ushered him into the office and sat him down with a large mug of hot, weak coffee.  
  
“So, you say you're interested in bookshelves?”  
  
“Not me really; a friend of mine. Personally? The less I have to do with books, the better I like it.” Xander grinned. “But everywhere Giles goes he has to have a library with him. He's never had any luck with contractors, so I told him I'd handle it. I think he was hoping I'd make them myself.”  
  
“You're in the business?”  
  
“Framing, mostly. Sure I could slap together some shelves, and they'd do the job. But doing it right by myself'll take more time than I've got to spend on it right now—I wasn't kidding when I said 'library.' And since I'm figuring to hire a crew for this anyway, I'd like a good one. I'm going to have to look at those shelves for the next however many years, after all.” 'There,' he thought, 'that's plausible. And likely to be true, too, if I take Giles up on the job offer. Maybe this would really be the best way to take on the shelf building.'  
  
Steve had leaned back in his chair with his elbows on the armrests and his fingertips tented together. “Are you looking for bids, then?”  
  
“Eventually. Right now, I'd just like to see some examples, maybe photos, of your work, and maybe talk to some of your previous customers, if that's OK with you?”  
  
“Of course. In fact...” Steve sat up, reached into the bookshelf to his right and pulled out a large, black 3-ring binder with 'shelves' written in blue ink on the label. “This is our 'showpiece' album right here. These are pictures of all the built-in shelves we've made since...” he checked the label “2000. No customer names or phone numbers of course, but if you see anything you'd like to know about, I can check to see whether they were willing to give references.” He gave the binder to Xander.  
  
“OK, sounds good.” He pulled a notebook out of his pocket, asked to borrow a pen and opened the binder. The photos, along with their detail sheets, were kept in clear plastic file envelopes. Xander leafed through them methodically, pulling out the files of the larger shelves. From time to time he asked about how long this or that job had taken, or about the technical aspects of the installation, or whether this or that customer had said he was available for a reference and jotted the answers down. After a little more than an hour he had finally gotten to February 2002.  
  
Dent's job (he guessed) was the second one. He pulled out the file and looked at the photos and the detail sheet. Contract signed on 17 February 2002 , installation started on 18 February and finished on 24 February. Huh. That was fast work for a wall of built-ins. Solid red oak. Quarter-sawn?

“These must have cost a bunch.”  
  
Steve looked at the file. “Oh, yeah. That job. We signed the first contract and got everything ready to go back in January and then come to find out he'd forgotten to get the owner's permission. We had to draw up a new contract with the owner's signature. He got it though, no problem. We started tearing out the wall the next day. He was real apologetic about it too. It all went smooth after that hiccup. He even handed over the rest of the payment and the completion bonus right there on the day we finished the installation and took us all out for 'real' beers after.” Steve made a wry face.  
  
“Oh, so that's why it all went so fast. I wondered. Solid red oak?”  
  
“That's what he wanted.”  
  
“Yeah, but all quarter-sawn? It's stronger, and it looks nice, but...”  
  
Steve shrugged. “I told him the first time plain-sawn lumber was good enough for this, as long as it's cured and joined right, and it would be cheaper to just to use the quarter-sawn for veneer if he liked the look of it, but he insisted on having it solid. And since it was his dime...”  
  
“The customer is always right,” Xander intoned piously.  
  
“Yeah,” Steve snorted gently. “It went a hell of a lot quicker than this other job we did for him.”  
  
“Other job? I bet it was something special. He doesn't sound like he went for the same-old same-old.”  
  
“Whooo yeah.” Steve reached into the shelf again and pulled out a binder marked 'Cabinets, Free-standing 1995 -2000.' He opened it, flipped back and forth through it, and then pulled out the file. “Here. Take a look.”  
  
“Wow. It's... a wardrobe? There aren't any knobs or pulls... ”  
  
“He didn't want them interrupting his design. The catches are the kind of jobbies on the inside where you push the doors in a little more and then they pop open.”  
  
“It's kind of hard to see...” Xander picked up a close-up of the front and looked at it carefully. From what he could tell it looked like some kind of a mandala.  
  
“Yeah... You can see it a bit better in this sketch the customer made.” Steve took a large, folded-up sheet of graph paper out of the file folder and unfolded it on his desk. “OK, now, this is the customer's original drawing. It's about quarter-size. The wardrobe itself was made of quarter-sawn red oak.”  
  
“Solid, I bet.” Xander looked at the graph paper A. D. May 1995 was scribbled in the top right corner. Sorbus au-something? Conlus? Fagot?  
  
“No takers. He was real fond of it. The inlay was done in brown oak and ten other kinds of wood, all undyed and unstained. Phil suggested that the pattern would stand out more clearly if some of the inlay were stained, or if he'd just use naturally darker woods, but he wouldn't hear of it. 'natural tones only, and no substitutions' he'd said, 'consider it a challenge.' Well, you know Phil—”  
  
“Actually, I don't know Phil.' Xander murmured.  
  
“Oh, well, I'll introduce you.” Steve went to his office door. “Hey Phil! C'mere for a sec. Guy wants to know about that job you did six-seven years ago. The one with all the inlays?”  
  
“OK.” Xander had heard Phil's basso answer faintly, a clanging noise, and then footsteps coming closer. He turned out to be a huge goblin of a man with hair like a shock of tow, mis-matched blue eyes and a ropey-looking scar that started on the right side of his neck and ran under the neck of his grubby gray T-shirt. Xander stood up to shake his hand. “Hey.”  
  
“Nice to meetcha.”  
  
“Remember this?” Steve pointed at the graph paper.  
  
“Uh-huh. I was only working on it for half a year.”  
  
Xander whistled. “So long?”  
  
“Well, it was kind of off and on. The customer was a nice guy, but real particular. Most of the time they don't really care what kind of wood something is made of as long as it looks nice, you know?” Xander nodded. “But this guy, he had to have it all exactly as he'd planned, and not just the colors. Who the hell uses rowan wood in North America? The hazel was impossible to chase down too. And no, he didn't mean sweet gum and he didn't mean that Australian hazel either. He meant, by God, corylus avellana. We had to wait weeks sometimes to find what he wanted. They didn't even look that special.” Phil shook his head mournfully. “it added about four months to the project altogether. Good thing he was a patient fellow, or we'd've had words.”

Very unusual. Dent's obstinacy suggested there was more to this wardrobe than mere storage space.  
  
“How'd it come out?”  
  
“I got to hand it to the old guy; it was real beautiful. Subtle, the way the grains and tones worked together. Staining it probably would have spoiled it. When I was done I'd just look at it for hours. Just beautiful.” The three of them looked down at the sheet of graph paper unfolded on Steve's desk for a moment.  
  
“Sounds like he'd be a good prospect for a recommendation.” Xander looked at Steve, who'd leaned down to type the completion date on the detail sheet into his computer. He frowned at the screen.  
  
“No, sorry, he asked us not to give his name or number out.”  
  
“Too bad.” Xander began to put the photos and then the detail sheet back in the file. He was considering how to get a copy of the sketch while he folded it up when Phil asked whether he was commissioning a wardrobe too. “No, actually, I'm after bookshelves. My friends and I just moved to Cleveland and—”  
  
“Cleveland.” Phil's voice had an odd note in it now. Flat and menacing.  
  
“Phil's from Cleveland—”  
  
“And I'm never going back. You should leave.”  
  
“Phil—” Steve looked concerned.  
  
“Get out.”  
  
“Look, I understand what you—” Xander said.  
  
“No.” His voice had gone all scratchy. He'd leaned toward Xander with his hands fisted and his teeth clenched. Tears in the corners of his eyes.  
  
“OK, I'm going,” Xander said gently.  
  
“Mr. Harris, don't—'  
  
“No, it's OK. I— I'd just better go. Yeah.”

 

He'd left Maitland's at a speed that was slightly too fast for dignity, and it hadn't been until he'd parked the SUV at the hotel that he'd realized he'd forgotten to give back Mr. Dent's design. It lay folded in quarters inside-out on the table next to his plate. Absorbed in going over his notes and deciphering Dent's scribble-y handwriting in the margins: _quercus rubra, quercus robur, ulmus rubra, fraxinus americana, populus alba, taxus baccata, sorbus aucuparia, fagus grandifolia, ilex aquifolia, malus sylvestris, corylus avellana, abies concolor_ , Xander lost all track of time. He knew one of them was hazel; he couldn't remember which. The rest probably were kinds of wood too. Why these kinds? He took another bite of his lemon bar. It was really good. Maybe he should take one home for Anya... Oh.  
  
“Heat that up for you?”

It was the waiter. Xander stared up at him; his throat locked around his last bite of cookie. He shook his head and pushed the almost-empty cup and the rest of the lemon bar away.

“Anything else?”

Xander shook his head.

“OK, here's your check then.” The waiter put it down and went back to his sketchpad at the counter. Xander threw a twenty down on the table and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading so far. If anybody spots a boo-boo, feel free to drop me a line and point it out. ^_^


	6. ...And Meeting an Old Acquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Xander can't seem to get a break.

He turned left sharply as soon as he got out of the diner, the late afternoon sun shining warm in his face. It was way past time to go back to the hotel room and see what Andrew and Kennedy had come up with. That was a plan. Sitting by himself and brooding— 'knock off that bawling, or I'll give you something to cry about,' whispered fiercely through his head. He hated that voice. It was the same one that said, 'Christ, I've seen a better head on flat beer,' whenever he did anything truly dumb. Like, say, eating lemon bars. When Giles had lost Jenny he hadn't—   
  
“—and fuck off!”   
  
Startled, he looked down the shadowed alley to his blind si—his left. As preoccupied as he had been he hadn't even noticed there was an alley there. He snorted to himself softly. 'Some watcher I'd make. Giles _must_ be desperate.' A mugger, Xander supposed, was holding a much shorter dark-haired woman by the shoulders, pinning her in the corner between the wall on Xander's left and a dumpster. The mugger was large; dressed like a cowboy in a dirty tan cotton duster and a dirty white hat. Judging by the bag on the ground she'd had been out shopping. Cowboy followed her from the store, maybe, waiting for the right moment. Her bags are heavy. She's tired and rushed and hot in that heavy coat, so she takes this shortcut. And then she's alone. 'Both hands full' Xander mused. 'If he has a gun, or something, he won't be able to use it quickly. OK.'   
  
“Now sweetheart, don't be like that. You smell so sweet an' juicy; jus' like a ripe peach, I swear I— Ow!”

Xander started to walk toward them, as stealthily as he could, and pulled the stake out of his pocket. Even a human mugger would think twice about getting stuck with a sharp piece of wood. If this guy was armed he'd need every edge he could get.   
  
“Let. Go. Of. Me,” she said, punctuating each word with a kick in the shins. So much for this being just a mugging, then. It was way past time to let him know they weren't alone.   
  
“Hey asshole, are you deaf or just way stupid? She said...” Oh. Shit. Shitshitshit. And also God damn. And it looked like—   
  
“I know you. You're one o' them kids from Sunnydale. Friend o' the Slayer's ain'tcha? Long time no see, little buddy.”  
  
—he'd recognized Xander too. “Well smack me on the head and call me 'Dizzy' if it isn't Lyle Gorch.”   
  
“You're looking kind o' sick there, boy. Not happy to see me again? Now that just hurts.”   
  
“What a shame.” What a shame he'd completely missed the chance to stake Lyle the easy way. Jesus, it's like the fucking Spanish Inquisition. No one expects the Cowboy Vampires! Not in the middle of the day and away from the Hellmouth. At least he hadn't gotten any closer before he opened his big mouth. Likely he'd be dead right now if he had.  
  
“Sarcasm don't become you, son. 'Sides, I got something tasty right here. Now Sugar, stop wigglin' like that. You're making me all hungry.”   
  
“Get the cops! Phone—” Lyle clapped his hand over her mouth. “Mmmmph! Mmmphmmm!”  
  
“You just hush now Sweetie-pie, the menfolks are talkin'. Yeah, go get the cops. Maybe they'll even get here 'fore I'm done with Mizz Peach here, if I'm lucky. Been a while since I had me a good tussle. You better hurry, boy. There ain't nobody out there 'sides you."  
  
So. No chance of bluffing him. Keep stalling, then, and see what turns up. “What are you doing in Pittsburgh anyway?” So much for his little speech to Giles about there being danger everywhere. He'd walked right into it.   
  
“Aww, now that'd be tellin'. Ow! Damn, woman, you got one sharp set o' teeth. Oh yeah Sugar, that's it. A little harder...”   
  
OK, so just going for Lyle was out. He'd be all over Xander in a split second if he got any closer, likely break his neck and grab the woman again before she thought to run. Or break her neck and then get him. Either way. Distract him? Hah! With what? Get backup? From where? And it would take too long anyway. Fake him out? Maybe...   
  
“Mmmmmph!”   
  
Xander began to back away very slowly. “Sorry for interrupting your fun there Lyle 'ol' buddy', but you and I both know I'm just not in your league. So, if you don't mind I'll just go call the cops, and we'll all have that 'tussle'."  
  
“Sure, son, take your time.”   
  
“Right.” Xander edged back as if he were about to run, and lunged, stake extended, when Gorch turned toward the woman again. And was swatted into the opposite wall.   
  
“Surprise!”  
  
Great. Oh well, it was a stupid plan anyway. At least he'd let go of her. All his attention was focused on Xander now. Joy.   
Lyle hooked his thumbs into his belt. “Well I'll be dipped in shaving cream. Looks like I got a fighter here after all. Giddyup boy, let's see what you got.”   
  
“Got a nice fresh stake for you. Made it myself.” Run, lady, get the hell out. Don't look at her. Forget her. Make Lyle forget her. No! Leave the shopping bags, you stupid— “So, Lyle,” feint left, dodge right, deeper into the alley, try to maneuver so the dumpster'll block Gorch's view of her “—since we're all friendly-like and such—” That's it, just a little farther... “What are you doing in Pittsburgh?” There. OK now let's see how long we can keep this up. If he survived this, he'd definitely thank Giles for making him take those lessons.  
  
“I'd love to tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. What happened to your eye, boy? See too much?” Xander dodged back just a hair too slowly this time, and the vampire seized his wrist, spun him hard against the dumpster; leaped, grabbed, and spun him again. “Or did something bad get it's hands on you.”   
  
And now it was his turn to be pinned, face-to-face with the vampire. “Ooof! Haaa... Why Lyle, I do believe you're in the wrong line of work. You should definitely try out for stand-up comedy.” He was going to have a big bruise across his chest tomorrow—if he was lucky. He still had his stake, but he was in no position to use it; Lyle held his forearms flat against the rim of the dumpster in a bruising grip. As he leaned forward to bite, Xander instinctively arced his head back and away, over the rank contents of the bin. And Lyle rubbing against him, belly to belly and groin to groin as he went for Xander's throat added it's own 'specialness' to the experience. “Or lap-dancing. What, no sweet-talk for me? That's so unfair.”   
  
“Well boy, you don't look nearly as pretty as her, but you do have something.” Lyle inhaled deeply at the hollow of his throat. “Oh, yeah... you smell so good... even better than her.” His eyes half closed in a disturbingly dreamy expression.  
  
“Yah! Just bite me, why don't you? You're not my type either.” She must have gotten away by now...   
  
“Aw, what a shame. I bet I can persuade you.”   
  
“I bet you say that to all the people you grab in alleys. Does it ever work? Ah! No! Will you stop with the rubbing!”  
  
“Nope. You just squirm too nice. Bet I could teach you to enjoy it 'fore too long. I haven't—”

Out of the corner of his right eye Xander saw the white blur a split second before it connected—Whop!—with the side of Lyle's head and knocked his hat off. The brown-haired woman hadn't run away after all.

“Now Sugar, that wasn't nice. We was having a moment here.”   
  
“No! No 'we'!” Xander yelped. “We was _not_ having a moment. _Were_ not.”   
  
“Let him go, you son of a bitch!” She swung back the shopping bag to club him again. Judging by the squareness and heft of the bag she had books in there. Nice, big, heavy books too, in a nice strong canvas bag. An excellent choice when you needed to hit something real hard. Whop! Right on the side of his head. Lyle was beginning to look annoyed. “'Sugar!' I'll 'Sugar' you, you big piece of... What the hell are you?” What was the matter with this woman? Hadn't she seen... Well, no. Cowboy hats can hide a lot.   
  
“Run! Get—” Xander's breath whooshed out as Lyle punched him just above his belt buckle and then dropped him. Everything went gray as he slid down and sat against the dumpster; dazed, sick and breathless.   
  
Whop! “Oof!” Good. She had a real good aim with that book bag. “You should've taken his advice Darlin'. Guess I'm gonna have dessert first after all. Oh, no you don't—” There was a ripping sound as he tore the bag out of her hands; spilling the books. He had her pinned against the other wall before the last one hit the ground. Later be sick later— “You are getting' on my last nerve,” —breathe now get up now stake himnowmove— “and I'm tired of th— Yah! Fuck! You miserable little coyote!”   
  
Xander had fallen, again, to his knees, but 'good ol' Lyle' was still looking distinctly put out. Well, a sharp stake in the asscheek wasn't as good as one in the heart, but it was sure better than none at all, as far as he was concerned. “What's the matter guy,” he gasped, “lunch disagree with you?”   
  
Lyle scowled down at him. “I wonder if you taste funny too. Guess I better do this all organized-like. Well, Sugar, I hate to do this to a lady, but I'm just gonna have to put you away for later.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“In you go!” And with that he casually tossed her into the dumpster, shut the lid, and yanked the bin to the opposite wall by the handle, wedging it so she couldn't push the lid up again “Stay put, now.”   
  
“Up yours with a corkscrew, you cocksucker!” came her muffled yell.   
  
“Maybe later, after we've gotten to know each other a bit better. I always say—”   
  
Xander didn't wait to hear what he always said. He'd recovered his breath as much as he was going to. Time for another try.   
  
“Now you quit. I'm plumb sick of you.” Lyle slammed him back against the wall next to the dumpster's new location before he'd even gotten halfway up, and he sagged down to the pavement again. He'd dropped his stake. His ears were ringing. Everything felt so far away now. Hazy. Comfortable. Like he was with his gang in the old library or Giles' place or the magic box. Nothing to worry about 'cause they'd find the right book and everything would be OK. Books all over the alley's ground. Lyle was standing right by one of them; sharing his ideas on how to treat that 'special' victim. It had fallen on it's spine and lay open to the sky. Too bad he hadn't been able to save her. He really had tried, but these weren't the right books for that. Ignore Lyle. Vampire bad. Books good. It was a children's book. There were dogs and cats and ducks when the pages swayed in a faint breeze. Xander knew that one. He'd had that same one when he was little, when Mom and Dad still loved each other. She used to read to him then. Did Mizz Peach have children? He wished she hadn't tried to help him. She was still yelling and banging on the lid from inside the dumpster, but she'd never get it open in time. Lyle was yapping on about his plans for them. Noisy vampire. He'd give his left nut to have Buffy there. Or Willow. Better to think of the book. Either of them could have saved her. He had no strength left, and the only magic he'd ever done by himself was by accident that one time at Giles' place. He'd said, said...   
  
“ _Librum incendere_.”  
  
...and... oh... pretty. The way the pages curled back as the flames caught and burned fitfully and sputtering at first, then blazing. Then the tail of Lyle's duster caught orange and yellow around the hem.   
  
“Oh, you're gonna just wish I just drained you.”   
  
Higher now; inching up the back of his coat.   
  
“I'm gonna poke out your other eye and eat it son.”   
  
Burning brighter by the second.   
  
“No, I'll make you eat it. Make you scream so nice. I— What're you grinnin' for?”   
  
“Scream nice.”   
  
“Huh?” He looked funny, staring like that.  
  
“Fire,” Xander tried to explain.  
  
But by then Lyle could feel it, and two seconds later he was a man-shaped torch, flailing at the flames with his bare hands and screaming. Ten seconds and he was a small pile of smoking dust.   
  
Xander could only stare at the burning book as his ability to think came trickling back. 'Jesus fucking Christ. I did magic. I set a book on fire. With magic. That's just spiffy. It'll come in real handy if I ever decide to join the Nazis. What happens now? Is it my turn to change myself into a rat, or try to end the world, or go to Hogwarts? Wait, that's just stupid. I'm too old. It was a good movie, though. I can't go around burning books; Giles'll kill me...' Gradually, as the fire died down, he became aware of other things. Such as the lady in the dumpster. She wasn't pounding quite so enthusiastically now; maybe she was getting tired. Oh. Oops.   
  
“Hey lady?”   
  
“What!”   
  
“It's OK now, He's gone.”   
  
“It is not OK! I'm stuck in a fucking dumpster!”   
  
“Working on it.” He retrieved his stake, shoved it back in his pocket, and tried to get up. It was easier after he got hold of the handle on the dumpster's side. Wearily, he tugged it away from the wall by the same handle. It took five or six yanks to get it clear. “Try it now.”   
  
“OK.” She pushed it up and over, popped up and looked around wildly. Xander leaned back against the wall. He made an abortive gesture at helping her, but she waved it off. “I can do it.” She sat on the rim, swung her legs over, and hopped down a little awkwardly; as if she wasn't sure where her center of gravity was. Her puffy down coat and slacks were smeared with dumpster gunk, and she looked absolutely enraged. “Where'd Asshole take off to?”   
  
“I dunno. I think he saw a cop car go by, or something.”   
  
“Oh.” She glared at her scattered books for a moment, and then looked over at Xander. “Thanks.”   
  
“Thanks yourself. He really had me there until you clobbered him. Do you need any help getting home, or wherever?”   
  
“No, I've got friends at a diner up the street. Buy you a cup of coffee, while we wait for the cops?”   
  
Cops? Oh, no, no cops. Not now. He did not want to even try to explain his little book-and-vampire roast to them, and he was in no shape to think up any convincing lies or half-truths right now. “No thanks, you go ahead. I just got to rest a moment.” He slumped back against the wall.   
  
“Don't move,” she said, and started walking to the diner.

As soon as she had gone around the corner, Xander whipped off his dirty and torn shirt and tied it around his waist. The shirt would help hide some of the dirt on his pants. It was a good thing he usually wore wifebeaters, and a lucky thing today's was blue. Blue meant a fashion choice. White meant underwear. He took off his eyepatch, stuffed it in his hip pocket and pulled his bangs down to hide his empty eye socket. As ugly as it was it was still less noticeable than a big, black patch. He crept up to the entrance of the alley and watched, peeking around the corner, until she went into the same diner he'd just left, and then quickly set out for the hotel again. Man, he needed a bath.


	7. Back at the Diner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out what Xander's rescuee did next and that Lyle has been a very bad boy.

Debbie was filling a napkin dispenser at the counter when Melanie came in and walked over to to her, preceded by the scent of _eau de garbage_. Debbie smelled her even before she looked up and saw her. Melanie was filthy, bedraggled and white with fear or anger; the waves of stink wafted off her like that dirty cartoon kid in _Peanuts_.

“What the fuck happened to you? You reek like you've been rolling in the city dump.”

“I was attacked.” She gritted out. “In the alley. Up that way. He threw me in a dumpster.” She shrugged off her coat, looked at the smears of filth on it a moment, and then dropped it on the floor at her feet.

“Jesus fuck! Are you OK? Justin! Call the cops.”

“Oh my God! Mel! What happened?” he said as he reached for the phone.

She leaned wearily on the counter on her elbows. “I'm fine. Some cowboy thought I looked like a good little victim, but I'm fine. Just call 911 and—”

Before Justin had begun to dial, however, the cops showed up on their own. “Well speak of the devil. Hey, Carl...” Debbie smiled brightly at the older of the two men who had just come in. “How's um... everything?”

“Not bad, well not good really, I mean I'm doing fine, but the rest of my life is the usual crap—I mean my job. My life is good, and my job is the usual crap. You?” He smiled back a little sheepishly. His partner, a younger man in his mid-30s, watched Carl Horvath's reaction with his eyebrows raised, and looked speculatively at Debbie.

She blinked a moment as she tried to track what he'd just said. “Good. I'm doing good. Thanks. Uh, why are you here? Investigating some donuts? We're out. And the cook's out on break too... I could get you some pie and coffee... The lemon bars seem kind of off today. The last guy didn't even finish his.”

“No thanks, really... Listen, Deb, the reason we're here is we're looking for a serial killer. Really bad. The Feds have a bulletin out on him. Most recent victim was found over on the Duquesne University campus, and a guy matching his description was seen around here last night. So we're giving the local businesses the heads up, and I just thought I'd swing by and see how you were doing... So, you mind if I stick this notice up on the board, and ask a few questions, long as I'm here?”

“Not so fast, Sherlock. Melanie here just got mugged down the street. Let's see you do something about that. Then we'll talk about your guy.”

Detective Horvath nodded, turned to look at Melanie, and took a pen and small notebook out of his pocket. “Did you get a look at the mugger?”

“I wasn't mugged. He attacked me and threw me in a dumpster.”

“The one we found the body in last year?”

“No, the one in the first alley up towards Wood Street.” Horvath nodded to his partner, who backed quietly out of the diner's door and headed off to the scene.

“What did he look like?”

“Like a schmuck cowboy.”

“Cowboy?” He looked up from his notepad, suddenly wholly focused, and pulled something out of his coat pocket. He began to unfold it. “Tan duster? White hat? Beard and mustache? Did he look like this?” he asked, and held out the paper. It was a portrait of a man in a Stetson-style hat.

Melanie stared at it. “Yeah. That's him! How did you—”

“Fuck me! That's our guy!” He pulled out a cell phone and pressed redial “Dave? We've got a live one here. Yeah, she said it was the Cowboy, ID-ed the picture and—Yeah, I _know_ it's daytime. No, she's fine— you OK? She's fine. You there yet? Seal off the scene and... Yeah, yeah, you know the drill. Any witnesses? Uh-huh. OK, I'm getting her statement right now.” He turned to Melanie “Anything else you can tell me? Did he talk to you? Did you get a good look at him?”

“Talk to me? Oh yeah, he wouldn't shut up. He had kind of a western accent, Sort of like Texas, I guess. I don't think it was put on... I knocked his hat off when I hit him with my bookbag. I think it's still there in the alley.”

Horvath looked as if she had just offered him the Holy Grail. “Dave? Suspect may have left his hat at the scene. Uh-huh. Yeah, that sounds like it. What? Yeah, and next you can teach your grandma how to suck eggs.” He turned to Melanie again. “Hair color? Eyes? What's he look like without the hat?”

“His hair's brown. Darker than mine. And wavy. His eyes were light brown, or hazel, maybe. It was a bit dark in the alley. Um, well... Justin? Could you help me out here?”

“Sure.” He flipped to a clean page and began to re-draw the Cowboy's portrait as she spoke.

“OK... his hair was kind of wavy, and his hairline kind of went like this... yeah... and his eyebrows were longer than that... and they kind of slanted...” After a few moments sketching, erasing, and re-drawing Melanie was satisfied.

“OK! Deb can I use your fax? OK great. Dave, I've got a new drawing of the suspect without his hat. I'm getting it out on the APB...” He looked back to Melanie. “Anything to add before I send this?”

“The other guy—”

“Other guy? He had an accomplice?”

“No! The other guy stopped him. I guess he saved my life... Didn't your partner see him? He was pretty beat up. He said he needed to rest. He looked so worn out, I just let him stay there when I went to call you guys. He's not there?”

“Dave said nobody was there.”

Justin's eyes went round. “That's so spooky. Do you think the Cowboy could have come back and got him?” Melanie looked stricken; Horvath frowned quellingly at him. “Oh, sorry Mel.”

“He probably went off on his own. Lots of people don't want to talk to us, even if they haven't done anything wrong. Go figure,” he added sourly. “'Sides, if the Cowboy had come back, he would have picked up his hat, most likely. OK, what can you tell me about our missing hero?”

“Well... They knew each other from someplace. He called him Lyle something before he attacked him.”

“The Cowboy called the other guy Lyle?”

“No, Lyle was the cowboy. He didn't say the other guy's name.”

“OK, Dave? The Cowboy's name is Lyle something. The victim says there was another man at the scene. She says he knew our guy. Called him Lyle, and then attacked him. Were they armed?”

“Lyle wasn't, not that I could see. The other guy had something in his right hand. A knife, I guess.”

“OK, I'm sending it now. No, the other man is _not_ a suspect. She says he saved her from our guy. He was armed, though, possibly with a knife... Yeah, I figured that too... No, she hasn't said. Yeah... right, OK. He saved your life and you didn't ask his name?”

“I was preoccupied!”

“OK, OK,” he made 'calm down' gestures with his right hand. “So what did the other guy look like?”

“Well... I wasn't really looking at him much... He wore an eyepatch... uh, black, on his left eye... He had dark hair... He was about this tall... And he was wearing a blue flannel shirt, or maybe a jacket...”

“Hey! He was just in here.” Justin flipped back a few pages in his sketchbook and showed the pictures he'd drawn of his erstwhile customer. “This the guy?”

“That's him.” She examined Justin's drawing. “He sure looks tragic.”

Horvath craned his head over her shoulder to see the sketch. “Yeah, he does. What would you say his state of mind was? Was he as down as he looks here?”

“I didn't wait on him, except to bring him his check. I asked him if he wanted more coffee, and he looked at me like I just ran over his puppy. Debbie talked with him most.”

“Deb?”

“He was really quiet; he looked like he had a bad headache when he came in. Nice guy, though. Polite. He was studying something, looked like. Kept looking at this big piece of graph paper and writing notes—”

“It looked like some kind of abstract design,” Justin chimed in, “like a mandala, or something like that.”

“Yeah, kind of like that. He had a hamburger plate and coke and then a lemon bar and coffee. Paid with a twenty, and left the change too.”

“Have the dishes he used been washed yet? We may need his prints.”

“Bill's taking a break, so I don't think so. Let's go see.” Debbie gestured toward the door to the kitchen. Horvath followed her.

“Oh, and I'll need the twenty for analysis too. We'll give you a receipt.”

As Debbie and the detective started for the kitchen, Justin got a cup, put it down in front of Melanie, and poured a cup of coffee. “You should sit down.”

“I'll get the seat dirty.”

“I'll wipe it off.” With a worried expression, he began to look over his sketch of the Cowboy. “He looks so ordinary. He's even kind of good-looking. I'd fuck him.”

“Yeah, if it weren't for the part where he's a crazed serial killer. And a total pig. Justin, this sounds nutso but...”

“What?”

“After I knocked his hat off, he got angry. He didn't look good then. He looked like some kind of monster.”

“I know.” Justin nodded wisely.

“You do?”

“Sure, emotions can make people look completely different. I studied about it in anatomy class. It's 'cause of how the muscles in your face work.”

“That's not exactly what I—” She was interrupted by the return of Deb and Horvath. Horvath was carrying some plastic bags containing a plate, a saucer, a coffee cup, a fork and a half-eaten lemon bar. Debbie went to the cash register and opened it so Horvath could extract the twenty. He replaced it with one of his own.

He turned to Melanie. “If you don't mind, I'd like you to come to the station with us to make a statement.”

“I do mind. Look at me. Plus I stink. You may have noticed?”

“I know, but we really need to get your statement right away. It may save someone's life, and that's no exaggeration. Maybe someone could bring you a change of clothes and you could clean up at the station? If we could, we'd like to have the ones you're wearing for forensic analysis anyway.”

“I don't know... Linz's got a big client today at work, and I don't want to upset her...”

“Oh! I know!” Debbie said, “Michael left some gym clothes at my home. Why don't I just run over there and get them while you two go to the station, and I'll bring them to you there.”

“Debbie—”

“I could bring you some of mine—”

“Deb—”

“But they'd fit you like socks on a rooster.”

“No, Deb, please—”

“Now, don't try to talk me out of it. It's the least I could do for the mother of my grandchild.”

“You expecting?” Horvath asked.

“Uh, yeah. Couldn't you tell?” She stood up straight, and poked her rounded belly out at him.

“Oh.”

“'Oh?' Why 'oh'?”

He hesitated a moment. “About half of the female victims so far have been pregnant women.”

“Oh,” was all Melanie had to say.

“Jesus!” said Debbie. “There sure are some sick fucks out there. Carl, you guys _are_ going to catch this miserable shithead, right?”

“We'll do our best, but...” He shrugged, “At least this time we got a good witness. I think you probably better come straight to the station with us.”

“OK.” She picked up her filthy coat, looked at it, and handed it to the detective. “Here. As long as you're keeping my clothes, you might as well start with that. He had his hands all over it.”

“Thanks.”

“What?” Debbie frowned. “You'll freeze out there like that.”

“Not a problem,” said Horvath. He shrugged off his overcoat and hung it around Melanie's shoulders. “Here, it's the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” She turned to Deb and Justin. “Could you not tell anyone about this? Especially Brian. And Michael.”

“And I shouldn't tell Michael, why?” Deb bristled, sensing an implied slur.

“You know how he worries about… Stuff. If he hears about this he'll worry, and he'll hover and hover, and just drive me nuts. Better let me do it. He'll be fine when he sees everything's OK.”

“...All right. Don't let the cops grill you too much.”

“Don't worry, we'll take good care of her. Here, let me get that...” Horvath opened the door for her, and they went out.

“Wow, that was exciting,” Justin said.

“Sunshine, that kind of excitement we could do without.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See anything wrong or have any questions? Please drop me a line!


	8. A Walk in Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Xander gets back to the hotel, and we find out a little more about what happened to Mr. Dent.

Plodding back to the hotel felt like it took ages. Luckily, the south wind was still unseasonably warm, so Xander didn't have to worry about freezing half to death before he got back to his room. Unluckily, people kept looking at him. They stared, in fact, and it just wasn't fair. Plenty of other guys were running around—OK, well, maybe not 'plenty' but he could see at least four others dressed as lightly he was. One of them was even staring at him too now, like _Xander_ was the weirdly-dressed one. Well, he did have all that dirt on his jeans; none of the other guys looked like they'd been kneeling in mud. Yuck. He hated this. The last time he had this many people staring at him was when Amy cast that screwed-up love spell on him. That was an unnerving thing to be remembering right when a tall, thin man in a funny-looking cap caught his eye, and smiled at him. It was a big, happy smile; Xander could see the gap between his front teeth. He looked like he was going to come on over and introduce himself. Xander shied away, and started walking faster. The tall man didn't try to follow him.

“Geez, I am a stuck-up asshole, aren't I,” he muttered, “get over yourself, already.”

He was still feeling embarrassed when he arrived at the hotel. Kennedy and Andrew were back; he could hear them arguing through the door.

“You're late.” “Oh my God, Are you OK?” Kennedy and Andrew said simultaneously, as Xander quickly shut and locked the door behind him. Andrew dropped his slice of pizza back in the box.

“Sorry, it's no big. A vamp was just trying to chow down on a civilian, but it's taken care of.”

“We got pizza. Hawaiian. Are you hungry?” Andrew asked.

“Thanks, no, I had a burger just now for lunch.”

Kennedy frowned at him. “You look kind of beat up.”

“So I got a little mussed up,” he shrugged, “goes with the territory,”

“It goes with _my_ territory. _You_ should be more careful. I'm supposed to be doing the rough stuff, not you.”

Xander held up his hands. “Hey, first of all, I was careful. He didn't know what hit him. Second, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, and third, you are not the boss of me, OK?” He smiled to soften any sting his words may have had, but Kennedy wasn't appeased.

  
“First of all, if you were so careful, why are you looking like that? Second, screw that John Wayne bullshit, and third, _you_ are the boss of _us_ , but that—”

  
“Look, it's not like that, OK? Giles said—”

“Giles said 'listen to Xander; he has much more experience than you do.' That's why he put you in charge.”

When he was a kid, he had longed to be the one people listened to. Now Andrew's quick nod of agreement only made him feel tired, sad, and more than a little testy. “Well, in mine that only makes me an adviser. If you think I'm the boss, you can feel free to stage a coup any time.” Andrew winced. Kennedy looked like she'd been slapped. “Shit, what _is_ it with me today,” Xander thought.

She was silent for a long second. “Maybe I should, if you won't stick to just advising,” she said, but the heat had gone out of her voice.

  
“Sorry. Look, I didn't mean it like that... Uhm, so... what were you two arguing about, anyway? I could hear you through the door.”

  
Kennedy continued to look withdrawn, but Andrew went along with the change of topic. “She says Aeryn Sun is way tougher than Captain Janeway. What do you think?”

  
“Well, do you mean physically or mentally or what?” Xander said. “'Cause physically, I've got to go with Aeryn. She's younger, she got all that combat training from when she was a kid, plus I think she's kind of basically more violent. Mentally? I'd say Janeway, probably.” He sighed. “And both of them are tougher than me. They have hangnails tougher than me. I want an ibuprofen and I really, really need to shower now.”

Andrew wrinkled his nose. “OK,” he said, “you kind of smell.”

“Ah, the joys of slaying vampires in nasty alleys,” Xander said, and limped off to the bathroom.

When he finished, Andrew was nowhere to be seen. Kennedy was talking on the phone, and taking notes. He waved from behind the bathroom door to attract her attention. She scowled, but said “just a sec” into the phone, and “what?” to Xander.

“Where's Andrew?”

“He's in the other bathroom. Why?”

“Oh. Uh... No reason.. If that's Willow, can I talk with her when you're done?” She nodded, and returned to her conversation, her back turned to the bathroom door. While she was looking the other way, he sidled to his suitcase, got fresh clothes, and dashed back into the bathroom to change. He wished he'd remembered to take them in the first place. Kennedy was gay, true, but Xander still felt uncomfortable walking around in front of her wearing nothing but two barely adequate hotel towels. He left the bathroom door open a crack as he dressed to let dry air in. Kennedy was still talking with Willow.

  
“The 'Boss' wants to talk with you... No, he needs to put some clothes on first... No, I am not enjoying the view! Is that what you think? Fine, whatever... Yeah, I'm ready. What else?” The too-usual strain in her voice was back. “OK fine, I've got it. Yeah. OK, we're done? I love you too. Xander!”

“OK, OK. Gimme a minute.” He took his eyepatch and notebook out of the dirty jeans' pocket, put on the eyepatch and accepted the receiver from a tight-lipped Kennedy. “Thanks. Hi, Willow? How's it going?”

“Just hunky-dory!”

“Is everything OK? You sound...”

“Everything's fine. We're all great... There's been an infestation of hnxst's down at the waterfront, but Giles made a potion that should get rid of them.”

“Demon DEET. Nice. The last time...”

“Yecch. Don't remind me. Rats are bad, and ones with tentacles are worse. We could save some for you if you want.”

“Naw, no way; you guys'll have 'em all cleared out long before we get back.”

“I hope. Anyway, what's up?”

“OK, here's the thing; I'm going to read a list to you, and I need you to tell me what you can about it. Ready? I'm warning you now it's all Latin. I may not say them right. OK. quercus rubra...” He could hear Willow's keyboard tapping as he read Phillip Dent's list. “-avellana... abies concolor.”

“Is that it?” She said.

“Yep. That's it.”

“Google, copy, paste... Google, copy, paste...” she half-chanted to herself, then: “They're all kinds of trees. Is that what you were expecting?”

“Yeah, I figured they probably were. Mr. Dent had a wardrobe made out of them, and the cabinet maker mentioned a couple of those names. He said Mr. Dent was very, very specific too, but some of his choices were way strange.”

“Do you want it back in English?”

“Yeah, please,” Xander fumbled for the hotel stationary. “OK, shoot.” Willow read the list to him slowly, pausing between each word to give him time to write it down. When she was done, he read the list back to her.“Red oak, brown oak, elm, ash, poplar, yew, rowan, beech, holly, apple, hazel, fir. That's all of them?”

“Mmm-hm. How did you get that list, anyway?”

“How? Oh, it's on Mr. Dent's design for the inlay on the wardrobe doors; I kind of had to leave in a hurry and I forgot to give it back. I'll send you guys a scan later on tonight.”

“Why those trees, I wonder... I think I'd better check into that. They may have some ritual meaning, or something... I better go... Love you.”

“OK. Love you too. Tell Buffy and Dawn I said 'hi,' if they call. OK, 'bye for now.” He hung up the receiver.

Andrew was leaning in from the other room, his eyes shining. “Sounds like you got something big.”

“I don't know. I guess it could be, but I don't really see how. You got anything?” Andrew nodded. “Kennedy?” She nodded too. “OK. So who wants to go first?”

“Me,” said Kennedy, “we may have a problem. I think there's something funny going on with some of the cops in this town.” Andrew looked frankly dismayed, Xander was just disgusted.

“Isn't there always?” said Xander, “looks like people really are the same all over. What'd you find out?”

“OK, so I went to the station at 400 Boulevard of the Allies. Bowen wasn't there, or at any other cop shop in Pittsburgh. He retired about three weeks after he was put on the Dent case. Said he 'needed to spend time with his family.' Then they gave it to another detective named Reikert, who also retired about a year later. It was kicked around for a while from cop to cop after that, and is now supposedly in the lap of some guy named...” She looked at her notebook, “Simms, who I didn't get to talk to 'cause he was out chasing some serial killer around. Mr. Dent's case has grown stony cold, and they don't seem to give much of a shit.”

“I hate to say this, but that sounds like business as usual. At least it was that way back home.” Not that Sunnydale was 'usual' exactly, but the cops there couldn't have been completely different from the ones everywhere else, could they?

She shook her head. “That's not the funny part. OK, no one at the station would talk to me about the case, so I figured I'd look up the retired guys and see if they knew anything, right? No one would talk about them either. Not one word. So I went back to the library, called Willow and asked her to get on line and get me their info. They're both dead. Suicides. Last October Bowen ate a bullet, and about a month later Reikert washed his car and then did the same.”

“He washed his car? Who washes his car before he kills himself? Andrew asked.

Kennedy shrugged. “It _seems_ his suicide had some kind of link with a murdered boy who was found in a dumpster last year sometime after Dent was killed. Reikert retired about then; he said he was 'under too much pressure,' but some rumors came out Reikert killed the kid and his buddy the chief of police helped him cover it up. Yeah, stinks, doesn't it? Anyway, the chief of police, a guy by the name of Stockwell, was running for mayor when the scandal got out just before election day... Now he's been indicted, and the new mayor wants him to resign.”

“I bet Stockwell'd love to get his hands on whoever slung that bit of mud.” Xander said.

“Oh, yeah, especially if it's true,” she said with savage glee.

“You seem pretty happy about it all,” Xander said.

“Willow told me what his platform was. More politicians like him, we don't need.”

“All's well that ends well, I guess,” said Xander, “but what's all this got to do with Dent?”

“Don't know,” she said “but I don't like it.” She tapped the printout. “Something smells bad here. A guy gets murdered, two cops investigating the murder retire, and those same two cops kill themselves. And then there's the other victim who may have been killed himself by one of the retired cops. Politics, cover-up and nobody's investigating anything anymore as far as Willow can tell, and she can tell pretty far, if you get my drift... It may just all be coincidence but I'm not willing to bet anyone's life on it.”

“Yeah.” “Right.” The others said; nodding.

“OK,” said Xander, making notes as he spoke, “looks like tomorrow we need to get ahold of Simms and see what we can shake loose from him. See if we can get a peek at their case files while we're at it. There may be stuff there Willow can't get to.”

“Do we want the autopsy reports on them too?” Kennedy said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, if we can get them. How did it go today?” He looked at Andrew.

Andrew sat up straight. “At 0930 I arrived at the Allegheny County Coroner's Office at 542 Fourth Avenue. Entry was obtained by means of—”

“Andrew?” asked Kennedy.

“Yeah?

“Can we have that in regular English, not Stick-up-the-ass?”

“Xander!”

“Kennedy, Andrew can give his report however he wants. Andrew, make it snappy. We have a lot to cover here.” Xander ran his hands over his forehead and massaged his temples with his fingertips.

“OK, then. I went to the morgue, sneaked in, got the file on Mr. Dent and copied it.” He opened his backpack. “here it is.”

“Color pictures and everything?” Xander asked, looking inside.

“The negatives were in the file. I just walked them over to the photo lab and had them run off copies. They didn't suspect a thing.”

“Smooth. I'm impressed,” Andrew smiled. Xander spread the file out on the table and they all gathered to look at the pictures. “And grossed out.”

“So he was in three pieces when they found him. Did that happen before or after he went into the water?” asked Kennedy.

Andrew flipped through the pages for a moment. “They think after. Near as they've figured it he went into the river in one piece sometime between February 20 and February 27. He'd been beat up pretty bad; maybe tortured. It says here the fingers of his left hand had been broken, several ribs broken, right knee dislocated...” He took a deep breath. “Lots of bruises, little burns, and animal bites on his trunk, arms, and legs. He died of a heart attack, I guess before they could make him talk.”

“If information was what they were after,” said Kennedy. “They could have just been doing it for kicks. Or revenge.”

“Yeah. Anyway after he... died, whoever did this wrapped him up in wire cables and weighted him down with cement blocks. The body was torn apart when it got tangled up in that barge's cable. The head wasn't found until March 6th, but his dental records and fingerprints weren't on file anywhere in the US. Then one of the lab techs sent his information to Interpol because he thought there was something different about his fillings. He was finally identified on March 10th by his dental records in the UK.

“Anything else?” she asked.

Andrew shook his head. “Not really. They didn't find any fingerprints— anybody else's, that is. He didn't have any clothes on, so nothing from that. The fingernail scrapings, cable and concrete blocks had some fibers in them similar to ones found in the kind of carpet used to line car trunks, but they were pretty generic. If they had a suspect they could check it against his car, but it doesn't point to anyone. Oh, here's something. The body was found about a quarter of the way across from this side and nowhere near a bridge. Whoever dumped it had to have used a boat. That's it, pretty much. What did the shelf-guys tell you?”

“The 'shelf-guys' told me he paid up in person on February 24th; the same day they finished installing. Even took them out for 'real' beer after. What they did _not_ mention was cops asking about him or whether they even heard he was dead. Something else we have to check for in the case file.” Andrew made a note on his copy of the autopsy report. “Now get this. They also told me in 1995 he commissioned a wardrobe from them. A real special job. Mainly made of oak but it had a pattern veneered on the front in other kinds of wood. And the thing is? Some of the woods he insisted on are almost never used in North America. But he absolutely refused to consider substitutes or to have any of the wood he chose stained to bring out the design more.”

“That's... strange.” said Kennedy

“Oh yeah. Sometimes the joiner had to quit working on it for a month or so while he waited to get the right kind of wood. And of course Dent had to pay a bunch more for it too. Here's the pattern.” Xander spread it out on the table and the others crowded around to look.

“It's... pretty,” said Andrew.

“Yeah, but it doesn't look that unusual,” Kennedy added.

“Here. Look at this.” Andrew lightly touched a group of long, wavy lines in the upper right corner. “And this here,”in the lower right corner. “I think these squiggles are supposed to be some kind of writing.”

“So what does it say?” asked Kennedy.

“I don't know. They're just squiggles.”

“You said they were writing,” she said.

“No, I said they're supposed to be writing, like at a bigger size.”

“We'll fax copies to Giles and Willow. Maybe they can figure it out.” Xander said.

“And we better do it right now,” said Kennedy, “The south wind was blowing almost all day.”

The men stared at her. “So?” Xander said.

“So we're probably going to get a snowstorm soon. Maybe even a big one.”

“How can you tell?” Andrew said.

“'Cause that's what happens after a south wind in winter. Haven't you noticed?”

“Can't say that I have,” Xander said, but then he was only ever in one snowstorm in his life before he moved to Cleveland, so he didn't really know much about it. “Andrew?”

Andrew shrugged. “Me either.”

“Trust me.” She smiled mysteriously.

“I bet you saw it on a weather report before I got here,” Andrew said. She only looked more smug.

“OK,” said Xander, “I guess we'd better go get these sent home.” He scooped up the papers and rather creakily got out of his chair. Andrew and Kennedy frowned.

“Shouldn't you stay here and let us take care of that?” said Kennedy.

“Yeah. Maybe you should lie down,” added Andrew.

Long experience had shown Xander what a bad idea that was. “No. If I do that now, I won't be able to move in the morning. Just a little more walking around to keep me from stiffening up, and then I'll be OK.” A thought occurred to him as he was shrugging into his heavy coat. “You should probably get some shut-eye, though,” he said to Kennedy.

“Me? Why me?”

“If there's one vamp, there's probably more. They're like roaches that way.”

“OK, so I go a-hunting tonight.”

He grinned at her. “Feel free to sleep in tomorrow.”

“Ha. Ha. Dream on, mister. You're not wiggling out of 'therapy' on my watch.”

“Darn.”

“Yeah, 'darn,'” she said. “Andrew?”

Andrew was already wrapping his scarf around his neck. “I'll go with.”

“Hey! Do I look like I need a babysitter now?”

“Yes” “No,” they said simultaneously. Andrew gave her a dirty look, and said “I want to get something to read, too. There's nothing on TV tonight.”

“OK, I guess we can stop at a bookstore or something on the way back,”said Xander. He wouldn't mind getting some comics himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who's read so far. I've revised it a bit from the original version, so questions, comments and feedback are most welcome.


	9. Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Xander and Andrew go looking for some light reading.

It took the better part of an hour to get the autopsy report and Mr. Dent's sketch scanned in and sent off to Willow, and Andrew watched carefully the whole time to make sure that Xander wasn't overdoing it. It's not easy to keep a close eye on somebody as smart and perceptive as Xander without him noticing; he had to be extra-careful and pretend to be looking at other things most of the time. Anyway, since there were vampires in Pittsburgh after all, checking the scene out in the nearest reflective surface was basic common sense. 'Sunnydale reflectses,' he thought to himself with an inward snicker. He thought about telling Xander the joke, but decided not to. By the time they had finished at the copy shop and were heading back to the hotel Xander seemed to be moving as easily as usual—which was a good thing. Kennedy had been right about the snow. It was another good thing there was a comic store on the way back to the hotel. They could get some stuff and be on their way before the weather got really bad.

***********************************

Michael wasn't really looking forward to going home tonight. Ben had been in such a mood lately; the least little thing seemed to set him off or make him freeze up. And then, just as it was almost time to close up and finally go home, two more customers had come in.

"Are you still open?" asked the shorter of the two.

"Yeah, sure." Michael suppressed a tired sigh.

"See?" he said to his friend.

"OK, you were right, I was wrong." The taller man smiled, "but I'll forgive you this time. How late are you open?"

"Oh, for about twenty more minutes." There. That should be enough time for them to pick out something. Or several somethings. He waited at the counter trying not to look at the taller man's eyepatch while they power-browsed the racks. It was kind of cute. The short one had just about the worst crush Michael had ever seen on his friend; who was pretty much oblivious to it. He couldn't keep his eyes off him. If the taller man had the sense God gave a peanut he would have noticed, but his mind was obviously on other things than being checked out. He picked out a few current titles: Spider-man, Punisher, Usagi Yojimbo, Justice League... He smiled wryly at the cover of the Snake Plissken Chronicles, and added it to his stack on the counter. He smirked at a copy of Blade and put it back in the rack.

"Don't care for vampire comics?" asked Michael.

His mouth quirked ironically. "Don't care for vampires in any form."

"Blade is cool," said his friend.

"Wooden knives? Come on, Andrew."

"They're like stakes.”

The taller one raised a sardonic eyebrow.

“OK, so there are one or two little inaccuracies," said Andrew.

"D'ya _think_?" He sighed. "The truth is, I just can't read vampire stories any more."

"Xander, you've got to learn to suspend your disbelief and keep an open mind. Some vampire stories could be really good. Like, you know... Spike's? Don't be so nitpicky."

"Hey! I'm very open-minded, I'll have you know. In fact if my mind were any more open, my brains would leak out."

The shorter guy rolled his eyes.

"Um, but not, like, for real. That would be gross." Xander started looking at titles again. " _Rage_? That's a new one, isn't it?"

"This is the second one. We put out the first one last year." Michael handed him an unwrapped copy that he kept behind the counter. "Adults only. The cover of the second issue is a bit..."

Xander stared at it for a long moment, his eye round and face going pink and then very, very pale. He started to speak, stopped, swallowed, and said "Definitely adults only," in a choked voice, and put it down on the counter. Andrew picked it up, and began to leaf through it.

"Um... Andrew, I need to call and see how Willow and Giles are doing on that thing."

"Oh, OK," said Andrew reluctantly putting the comic back on the counter.

"No, that's OK. You enjoy yourself, and I'll see you back at the hotel. OK?"

"You shouldn't..."

"No! Every thing's fine. You just come on back when you're ready. It's only a couple blocks away."

Andrew let himself be persuaded.

Michael thought with sour humor that if the guy wasn't about to faint from gay panic he'd eat his Snake Plissken comic. "Are these all for you then?"

Xander nodded.

"That'll be $20.35 and... here's your receipt."

Xander paid silently, nodded to Michael and his friend, and left. Possibly all in under a minute."Well, your friend sure seems to be in a hurry all of a sudden."

"Huh? Oh, Xander's got some stuff he has to do. It's really important..."

That kid had it bad.

"This is just. It's just... wow." At least _he_ liked _Rage_.

"Me and a friend of mine put it out. I do the stories; he does the art. We're in talks to make a movie deal, as a matter of fact."

"That's so cool. Where do you get your ideas?"

Michael wondered why they always had to ask that. Were all comic book fans frustrated artists? He was going to have to think of some stock sarcastic answer like Steven King did if it happened much more often.

"Well… kind of from real life. Stuff happens... You meet people, they give you ideas..."

"Hey, me too! I work with video, mostly."

_Quelle surprise_. "Do tell," said Michael.

Andrew, not noticing his quelling tone went on. "Yeah, I have lots of stories, mostly about my friends? Real good ones too, but I don't have any budget. You know, explosions and fights and stuff cost a lot of money to film, unless you do it in real life. Which they totally won't help me do. Like last month? I wanted to film this scene where Xander totally demolished our old high school? I even had this big abandoned building picked out. It was perfect, but Buffy —she's like, the leader? She says 'Hell _no_ , I'm not going to help you blow it up. Are you crazy?' and Xander says 'Ixnay on the explosives-ay. I get enough of that at work—'"

Explosives!? "What does he _do_?"

"He's in construction."

Oh, of course. Probably hurt that eye on the job.

"Anyway, I'm just having no luck getting my vision across, and it's really frustrating, y'know? Hey you just gave me this great idea—"

'Oh, no, here it comes,' thought Michael.

"My friends would be so good in your comic book!"

Oh, God. "I don't know any of your friends."

"You know Xander. I have some great stories about him. He's really brave and stuff. Oh! And—"

Michael barely suppressed a sneer. So brave the sight of a not-so-little dick sends him running. "I don't think Xander would work out so well in ' _Rage_ '. He's not the sort of guy we write about."

"What do you mean? He'd be like this visiting hero guy..."

"Uh huh. Really. What would you call him, 'Straightman'?"

"...Huh? Sorry? Oh, listen, this is a great story. The whole world was thiiis far from total destruction, and he saved it, saved everybody, right?"

"Right. Now how did he do that? Hmm, I know, he persuaded the Borg we were unworthy of assimilation, right?"

"No, that's totally not it. There's this witch, see?"

A _witch_? Lame. "Does she weigh the same as a duck? 'Cause that would be new and different."

"What? No, she's a real witch. Anyway there's this witch and she's the most powerful witch in the western—"

"Oooh, the Wicked Witch of the West. Ya gotta love those flying monkeys."

"She did not have flying monkeys! That was...” He winced. “That, that was someone else. Anyway—"

"But she's an ugly old wicked witch, right?"

"...That's. Just. Amazing." Andrew was starting to get steamed.

"I knew it."

"Noo… What's amazing is how completely _wrong_ you are. She's pretty. No, she's beautiful! "The most beautiful woman ever, in fact.” His face fell for a moment. “Well, the second most beautiful woman ever, really. But she's young—and... and _good_!"

Uh-huh. "OK, then, why did he have to save the world from her?"

"Did I say he saved the world from her? I didn't say that, did I?"

"So what did he save the world from?"

"...from her.”

“I knew it.”

“Oh, um... Well, she's mostly good. Not any worse than a lot of people. Anybody can make a mistake..."

“'A mistake?' Destroying the world is 'a mistake'? Killing people is 'a mistake'?"

Andrew looked as though he saw something very unpleasant not far enough away. "...Sometimes. Usually."

"Look, I'm just trying to see where you're going with this." For some reason. Nothing he was going to say would stop this stupid kid from getting his heart stepped on. If he hadn't been in such a good mood about the deal with Keller, he'd have just sent the kid over to Brian to get straightened (so to speak) out. "OK, so, what happened, this is a Sorcerer's Apprentice-type deal; some spell got out of control, right?"

"Yeah, well, um, Not exactly. At first she just wanted to punish... a guy...a few guys for something they didn't even do— Well, one of them did it, but the others didn't, and then she decided to destroy everything. But she was real mad, see, and—"

"So she meant to do it. And this's a good witch? No, never mind. So. Your friend stopped her. She has the power to end the world and he stopped her?"

"Yes, that's right."

"How did he stop her? Shoot laser beams out of his eyes? I mean 'eye'?"

"No! That's Cyclops. He's fictional. And he still had two eyes then."

"So?"

"Oh...um... hetoldherhelovedher."

"What! Say that again?"

"He told her he loved her. Is that so hard so understand?"

"A powerful evil —sorry 'good'— witch is going to destroy everything 'cause she's 'real mad,' and he stops her by telling her he loves her. Aww, that's so ...sweet." Jesus Christ.

"...Now you're just being sarcastic."

"No, really. It's sweet. I think I'm getting diabetes here. What, does that comic look like a Harlequin romance? 'Cause if that's your impression, I got to have a talk with my artist. Your man Xander may be the world's greatest lover, which I personally doubt, but—"

"That has nothing to do with it! And he is too; his girlfriend said he was a Viking in bed— well, ex-girlfriend. That's another story. But she'd know because she used to be—"

"Stop. Don't say it; I don't want to hear it. You're just embarrassing yourself."

"What! I am not."

Poor kid. "Yes, you are. Look, I bet he's a basically good guy, but you've got to stop hero-worshiping him. He is never going to be how you want, no matter how long or hard you try. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about here. You should just give it up before you get hurt and—"

"You…” He inhaled sharply. “You think you're so smart. You don't know anything about him. Or me."

"I know people—"

"Hah! You wouldn't know a real hero if he kissed you on the lips."

"Oh, is that right?"

"Yeah! And another thing? Your comic book is lame!"

"Well, fuck you too, little buddy. If you don't like it, why don't you go where you won't have to look at it any more?"

"Fine! I'm gone!"

"Yeah, fine! Have. A. Nice. ...day..." Of course he has to slam the door on the way out. Dumb drama-queen twinks and their fucking stupid crushes... Poor kid. Oh, well, time to go home.

***********************************

By the time Xander had gotten back to the hotel he was feeling more than a little stupid. What kind of a prude was that comic store guy going to take him for anyway? Definitely not his finest moment. He just must be having one of those days. Oh, well. He'd called Giles to see what they'd come up with.

“Not much,” Giles had said. “Your faith in our abilities is touching Xander, but we've only had this an hour,and we have almost no references to work with. Go get some dinner.”

Xander didn't tell him what had happened with Lyle Gorch. He just couldn't seem to make himself say 'I set a book on fire with magic and accidentally toasted a vampire with it.' He'd poked his head into Kennedy's room to see if she was napping. She was. He flopped down on his bed and started thumbing through his new comics while he ignored a documentary on snakes on Discovery. Andrew arrived a quarter of an hour later in a truly pissy mood.

“Shut the door a little harder next time why don't you? I don't think they heard you down in the lobby."

"Sorry. It's just... I tell the comic store guy this great idea for his stupid comic, but no, he doesn't want to hear about it. Thinks it's too 'sweet'. Moron." He sat down hard on his bed and bounced, scowling.

"Andrew… It's his book, and he'll write it how he wants." OK, so what Spike did was a good story, but if you didn't know him it was so improbable. A vampire getting his soul back for love, and then sacrificing himself to save the world? It sounded like something out of a saccharine romantic fantasy. Just as improbable as a demon giving up her immortality and powers to become a vulnerable human again. And sacrificing herself... It occurred to Xander that maybe Andrew hadn't really been talking about Spike. Wait, he missed something. What was that Andrew had just said? He focused again, hoping Andrew hadn't noticed the lapse in attention.

"...about a man who saved the world? I mean a real hero?"Andrew gave him a sidelong look.

"But that's not fiction, it's... biography, and not everybody wants to write that, not about people they don't know... And anyway I think Spike would have laughed his ass off." Xander put mental quotation marks around 'Spike' and 'his,' and hoped for the best.

"Oh...really?" Andrew looked puzzled and a little hurt.

"Yeah...he would have liked it, though." Xander sighed.

"You really think so?"

"Yeah, sure."

"So if someone wrote comics about you, you'd be OK with it?"

Xander blinked. Andrew's trains of thought sometimes did not actually follow the rails. Oh, well, when confused go for the distraction. "Very funny. I can see it now: The Adventures of Carpenter-man. Hey, I could be like The Shoveler on _Mystery Men_. That was one funny flick.” He grinned “Beats being The Spleen..."

"Xander..."

"Or The Blue Raja..."

"No, look..."

"Mr. Furious would be cool..."

"That's not what I..."

"No. Black leather just doesn't work for me. I'd look like a Snake Plissken wannabe. Hey, d'you wanna watch _Mystery Men_ tonight?"

"No! That movie sucks!"

"...Ooo Kaaay…" Andy was obviously not in the mood to see the funny here. Xander sighed. "Look, you can't go around getting mad at people because they don't go along with your ideas."

"I know. I'm sorry. And if you don't want me to, I won't." Andrew looked crestfallen. "But it's such a good story, and it's real. Not like his lame comic book."

"I didn't think it was lame."

"Then why didn't you buy one?" Andrew looked at him narrowly. "Why did you just about run out when you saw it?"

“Every damn time I think I...” Xander took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I was like 'Whoa! Anya'll _love_ this.' I keep forgetting… And then I remembered she couldn't... I just lost it. Again.” He shook his head. “But don't you feel bad about it. I don't. I want to remember her. Everything reminds me of her these days."

"Oh." Andrew was silent for a moment, looking at his hands. "Anya liked gay porn?"

"Oh, yeah. She liked anything that would make her feel good. I used to get so embarrassed sometimes ' cause she wanted to try everything at least once, and she didn't care who knew it." He smiled gently in reminiscence. "I remember this one time at the Magic Box about, oh, two years ago—no, longer than that. It was after closing time, and the rest of the gang hadn't come yet; it was just her, me and Giles in there. And she said something to him about how hard it was for us to find a guy we could agree on to have a threesome with. And then when Giles was choking tea out his nose she said, 'Not you. Xander said it would be too strange.' We couldn't look each other in the face for a week after that."

"Oh," said Andrew in a strangled voice, his face even redder than Giles's had been.

"...I probably shouldn't have told you that."

"No! I liked it! I mean... Um..." He stared at Xander, eyes wide and face reddening toward puce. "I need to wash up," he squeaked, and fled to the bathroom.


	10. On Patrol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kennedy goes on patrol, and it turns out Xander was right.

Kennedy woke up at about 7:00, not exactly rarin' to go, and looked out the window. She'd been right. The snow was coming down in big, sticky clumps, and showed no sign of slowing anytime soon. She stuck her head in the guy's room to let them know that she was just going out for a quick patrol, “to see what's where.” The room was dark, except for the armchair under the lamp, where Andrew was sitting and reading a comic book. Xander was in bed, asleep.

“Time for patrol?” Andrew asked softly.

“Yeah”

“OK. Give me a minute to get my coat.”

“No, you better stay here and keep an eye on things. Public building, you know.”

“But—”

“No, really. I'm only going out to look around a bit. No victims are going to be out in this. No victims, no vamps.”

“I could be a victim.”

“I'm not using you as bait.” Well, not without a good reason. “You stay here and keep an eye on Xander. He's done his bit for today, and he needs his beauty sleep. Oh, and you're coming with us when we go for 'therapy' from now on.”

“...OK.”

'There. That was easy,' Kennedy thought, 'Andrew's usually much more insistent than that. He does jump when you tell him to do anything for Xander, though.'

She turned right after going out the hotel's front doors and started to stroll toward the local party district, still musing, 'Not that that's such a bad thing; not with Xander's luck. Look at him! Probably the only vamp in Pittsburgh, and guess who runs into it? This must have been what Faith meant by that little “pep talk” the night before we left Cleveland: “If there's anything hinky going on in Pittsburgh, Xander will find it, or it will find him. It's like he's got some kind of magnet for weird shit, or something. Look out, and call me if it gets bad.” I bet there's some history with those two, but if I ask Willow about it, will I get any answer? Ever since we got to Cleveland, she just doesn't... She'll just shrug again and say “it's all over now,' or 'it doesn't matter any more,” or “oh, let's talk about that later,” in that avoid-y way of hers, like she thinks I'm some dumb civilian. Sometimes, she can be so irritating...'

Kennedy's increasingly grumpy ruminations were interrupted when a white SUV pulled up next to the curb about half a block ahead of her. The driver opened his door to lean out and talk to a man in she'd been walking behind for the last few blocks. It all looked normal, but there went that old twinge in her gut… She pretended to look down as if she were worried about her footing on the slushy sidewalk, slowing as she neared the two men.

“Hey, weren't you at the Auerbach place today?” White SUV asked. His breath didn't cloud up in the cold air.

“Um, yes?” answered the man, who was wearing a silly-looking (in Kennedy's opinion) Andean cap. Practical, yeah, but still silly-looking.

“That's right! You catered that party last week, right?”

White SUV didn't show up in the rear-view mirror on the door, either. My, my. Xander had been right about vampires and cockroaches after all. Still, this wasn't anything Kennedy couldn't handle by herself.

“Oh, yes!” He smiled broadly. “Yes I did. Did you have a good time?”

“It was great. That chocolate-hazelnut cake... You guys are like artists, or something.”

Well, thank you so much! I'm so glad you liked it!”

“Hey, can I offer you a lift? It's really nasty out here.” The vampire stepped out of the SUV.

“Oh, no.” It looked like Inca Cap felt something was off too; he was backing away from the polite stranger. I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble.”

“No, I insist.”

“No, really. I was just going to meet a friend, and I'm almost there...”

“I really do insist.” He grinned, and then lunged for Inca Cap to catch him by his wrist.

Clearly, White SUV wasn't going to take 'No, thank you' for an answer, not that Kennedy had expected anything different, vamps being pushy like that.

“Ow! Let go! What do you think...” Inca Cap twisted his arm against the vampire's hold and then began to struggle in earnest, when he found, to his dismay, that his bad Samaritan was much stronger than he looked. “Let me go I said!”

White SUV's grin only shifted to a smirk, but he'd waited too long.

“Soooorrry,” Kennedy sneered. “I don't think he wants a ride.”

The vampire's focus snapped toward her in surprise. “Fuck off,” he said dismissively. “Who asked you”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh, silly me! You don't have a mother any more, do you? Leach.”

Kennedy twirled her stake across her knuckles for emphasis, a skill she had honed in too many hours of high-school history and science classes. The vampire scowled at her, and flung Inca Cap into the car, across the front seats. She could hear a muffled thump and a cry of pain as his head hit the inside of the front passenger's door.

“Well, now. You look like a dandy desert. Who are you?”

“I'm nobody to be trifled with. Get it? trifled?”

He shook his head.

“You all are so stupid; you never get my jokes,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Laugh at this, bitch.” The vampire snarled into his gameface, lunged at her—

—and 'poofed!' himself on the end of her stake. This had to have been the shortest fight of her life. She shook her head. “Well, that was lame,” she said, and turned to the see how the victim was doing. Inca Cap's legs were kicking as he squirmed backward out of the SUV. He had extricated himself after a moment. “Are you OK?”

“What... who... who was that? Is he gone? Where did he go?” He looked around wildly for a moment, rubbing his side, where he'd fallen across the drink holder between the seats.

“Pfff. Forget about 'im. He's nobody you need to worry about now. Why don't you go on home?” She reached into the SUV to turn it off, but there was no key; it had been hotwired. “Tsk,” she said, and untwisted the wires, being careful not to leave fingerprints. The engine stuttered to a halt.

“I was going to meet my friend at the diner up the street. She's just getting off work.”

“OK, then,” Kennedy said, smiled at him, and slipped past him on down the street. She stopped at the entrance to an alley and watched for a moment to make sure he got to the diner, and then turned to continue her patrol.

***************************

Debbie was waiting for him next to the register when Emmett burst into the Liberty Diner. She'd draped her coat over a stool, and she looked exhausted. He waved, and nearly ran over to her.

“Debbie! You'll never guess what happened just now!”

She looked up at him tiredly and snapped her gum. “You were attacked and then a mysterious stranger rescued you,” she said in a bored drawl.

“Oh. How did you know?”

“The same thing happened just this afternoon. And let me guess; your rescuer was a tall dark-haired cutie with an eye-patch.”

Emmett blinked. “Don't I wish. No, _she_ was a short, skinny brunette. It was so embarrassing. This butch asshole tries to make me get in his car, and then she shows up out of nowhere and scares him off. I feel so inadequate.”

“Oh, damn. 'Cause if it was the guy with the eye-patch, Carl wants to talk to him.”

“Ooh, Detective Horvath was here?” In the back of his mind, Emmett Honeycutt, matchmaker _extraordinaire_ , rubbed his hands together. “ Oo-la-la!”

“Nothing happened.”

He leaned against the counter next to her. “C'mon Deb. Dish. Tell Uncle Emmett all about it.”

“Nothing. Happened. I told you before, we're just friends now. He only came here because he was looking for a serial killer. Oh, by the way, if you see this guy?” Debbie tapped a picture lying near the register. “Stay away from him. He's bad, bad news.”

He glanced down at it. “Haven't seen him. I did see this really cute guy in a blue wifebeater today. It's like the first sign of spring, or something, when—”

Whap!

“Ow! Debbie!” Emmett rubbed his stinging hand.

“Pay attention!”

“Sigh. OK, Detective Horvath was here and nothing happened.”

She glared at him. “That's not the point. The point is there's a psycho killer on the loose.”

“OK, OK. I'll stay away from this guy if I see him, and call Carl. Did Justin draw this?”

“Yeah, he attacked somebody up the street, and she was able to give the cops a better idea what he looked like.”

“Who? Anybody I know?

“Er...”

“I knew it!” crowed Emmett. Who was it?”

“OK,”She glanced around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear and leaned in close. “You've got to absolutely keep this under your hat.”

“Ooh, mysterious.”

She looked annoyed.

“Cross my heart and hope to die, I won't tell a soul.”

Debbie murmured in his ear, “It was Melanie.”

“Mel—!”

She clapped her hand to his mouth for a moment, until he nodded, and then pulled it away again.

“Sorry,” he said in a low voice, “Oh, my God! Is she alright? Did he hurt her? Is the baby OK? What did Michael say?”

“She's fine. The baby's fine. Michael doesn't know yet. She made me promise not to tell him.”

“I don't know...” Emmett's brows knit together. “That doesn't really sound like such a good idea to me...”

“She wants to tell him herself so he won't worry. I love my son to death, but you know he's such a nervous Nellie, sometimes. She's fine, I said. This guy,” Debbie pointed at a picture of a sad-looking man with floppy dark hair and an eyepatch on his left eye, “came along before The Cowboy—The Cowboy is what Carl called him—”

Emmett's heart sank. “I heard about him. They think he's killed thirty or forty people at least, all over the country, and those are just the ones they know about for sure.”

“Oh. Carl _did_ tell us the Feds really want a piece of him. Anyway, this guy fought him off before she got hurt, but he took a hike before the cops could talk to him.” She smiled wryly. “Carl was less than thrilled with that.”

Emmett was still looking at the drawing of the man in the eye patch. “He looks like a reformed pirate with a tragic past.” Emmett sighed. “So romantic. Was he in here?”

“Yeah. That's how Justin got his picture too. He seemed really nice.”

“You know, it's _so_ unfair. The married lesbian gets rescued by Tall, Dark and Handsome, and I, the single gay guy, get rescued by Short, Skinny and Female. Do you think he's gay?”

“I couldn't tell. He seemed straight, but might be a bear.”

“I can only hope. Oh, well. Are you ready to go home?”

“Yeah.” She started to put on her coat. “I'm so whipped...”

“No more double shifts, OK? It's not worth it. Let me tell you about my day. The party is going to be a huge success. I tried out Vic's recipe, and they loved it! Now, don't cry, you know how he liked it when people enjoyed his inventions...”

The two of them went talking together into the snowy night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be seeing a lot more of Emmett in the future. ^_^
> 
> Feedback? Questions? Please drop me a line in the comments.


	11. At the Gym

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Xander and his gang discover that no good deed goes unpunished.

Emmett squelched along the sidewalk, mourning the return of winter and the utter dearth of hot guys in tank tops. What a difference a day made—well, a night, really. Yesterday had been sunny, with a warm, welcome south wind. This morning was bitter cold, the wet slushy snow that had fallen the night before had half-frozen, and it was clear that even after the sun came up, the day was going to be cold, gray, and probably snowy.

It was so hard to get out of a warm bed to go work out, but his schedule was so irregular and so busy now that his catering business was taking off, that if he didn't go work out early in the morning, he wouldn't get around to it at all. That was something he wasn't willing to risk. Although, unlike some people he knew, *cough Brian cough* he wasn't vain about his body, he was still proud of how it always answered his demands without apparent effort. So he slogged along until he got to the 24-hour gym, and did his usual 3-day-a-week routine: stationary bicycle, stretching, weight machines, a little more stretching, and then the shower.

One advantage he'd discovered to going at that time of day was that there was very little competition for the facilities, and he was able to get through the routine very efficiently. This morning, for example, there were only two other guys in the shower; a cute blond with a funny face, and a brunet with a broad back and an impressive set of shoulders. He also had some nasty-looking bruises around his wrists and across his chest, which Emmett had to wonder about. He could hear the two's chit-chat echo through the empty room, even over the sound of running water.

“Ow. My aches have aches,” said the blond.

“Are you alright?” asked his friend.

“Eh, she's like a drill sergeant, or something. How do you do it?”

“Simple. If I don't, she'll sic Giles on me, and if that doesn't work he'll gang up on me with Willow and her 'resolve face.' I can't resist the 'resolve face'.”

“You're getting pretty good at cudgels,” the blond said wistfully.

'Ah,' thought Emmett, 'a martial arts enthusiast. That probably explains the bruises.'

“Not bad for a one-eyed guy. Not bad at all,” the brunet answered.

Emmett's ears perked up at that. Last night, over mugs of cocoa, Debbie had told him more of the excitement of her day. How many tall, dark-haired, one-eyed men could there be in this neighborhood? He even sounded about the same age as the man Deb had described. He resolved to get a look at the man's face at the first opportunity. If he looked like the guy Carl was looking for, Emmett would have a really good reason to drop by the station to see him, wouldn't he?And if their conversation just happened to wander in Debbie Novotny's direction... Well, what were friends for? His chance to take a look came sooner than he expected when the dark-haired man rubbed the steam off the mirror so he could shave. That long face, that mouth were unmistakable, as were the eyebrows... And the left eyelid, flat and empty-looking. If he wore an eyepatch, it wasn't just for fun. So sad. Then Emmett caught the hot glare of the slender blond man aimed at his reflection in the mirror. There was definitely a “trespassers will be shot” vibe going on here. Whether Melanie's guardian angel was gay, straight, or bi was irrelevant to one Emmett Honeycutt if his little friend had anything to say about it. He hastily ducked his head under the shower nozzle to wet his hair.

Emmett was on tenterhooks for the rest of the time in the men's shower room. He realized, shortly after spotting the object of Detective Horvath's interest, that until the one-eyed man had settled and was going to be staying in one place for a while, he had to watch him. It would do precious little good to let Carl know where he'd _been_. Emmett was going to have to follow them until he was in a position to tell Carl where he was _right now_.

'Unobtrusive. That's what I have to be. Invisible.'

He tried to remember everything he'd seen and heard about shadowing people on police shows, and decided to wait until the other men had dressed and were just about to leave before he got out of the shower. Then he'd try to catch up to them before they left the club. If they left on foot, he'd follow them. If they got into a car, he'd try to get the license number, and tell Carl what he knew. Luck was with him; there was a third member of their party—probably the 'drill sergeant'—who was already through with her shower, and waiting for them near the front door silhouetted against the thin, gray early morning sunlight.

“Took you two long enough,” she said. “So what do you guys want to do for breakfast?”

With a shock, Emmett recognized the voice of the girl from the night before. While they debated about going back to the hotel and ordering room service, and going to the cafe a block away, Emmett skulked behind a corner and a large ficus, listening as carefully as he could. He named them in his mind: 'Sarge,' 'Zippy' (after his great-aunt Dora's sweet-but-obnoxious mini-pinscher), and 'Mel's Angel'—which he soon shortened to just 'Angel.'

“C'mon guys, how often do we get to order room service?” 'Zippy' asked.

“I had that for breakfast, lunch, _and_ dinner yesterday,” 'Sarge' said. “It's getting kind of old.”

“Anything's fine with me,” said 'Angel,' “as long as we get it fast. I'm starving.”

“The cafe's just around the corner...” she said.

“Suits me,” said 'Angel.'

“...OK,” 'Zippy' said, and the three of them went out the door.

Emmett thought he knew the cafe in question, but he followed them as stealthily as he could to make sure. He was quite pleased with his skill at ducking behind cars and into alleys to keep his targets from noticing him. He'd always known he had more ability to be sneaky than people gave him credit for. After they arrived at the cafe—it was 'Jimmy's,' just as he'd thought—he waited a few minutes until he saw that they were looking at menus. There were some pay phones on the parking-lot side of the cafe. He picked his way around the corner, into the shadow of the diner, fishing in his jacket pockets with both hands for a quarter.

Which was how the two men waiting for him were able to seize, gag, hood and bind him before he could even think of fighting. By the time he realized what was happening, they were lifting him by his shoulders and feet, and carrying him somewhere. It was only when heard a car trunk opening that he began to panic. His yells were muffled by the gag and the hood over his head, but when he curled up in a ball and kicked out with both feet, he felt a solid shock through his soles, and then a harder one as the two dropped him on the ground. Luckily, the slush prevented him from cracking his skull on the pavement, but he was suddenly rather wet and cold. He could hear the man he'd kicked cursing like men did when they'd just been hit in a very, very sensitive place. He wriggled, and tried to kick him again.

Then the man who had been holding his shoulders put his fingers on the sides of Emmett's neck and squeezed. “Stop that,” he said in a mild, even voice.

Emmett kept struggling, but soon there was a ringing in his ears, and his arms and legs moved more and more slowly.

“He's stronger than he looks. We'll have some fun with this one,” he heard the man say, as a blackness deeper than the inside of his hood erased his sight.

**********************************

When he came to, he was lying in a warm, clean bed in what looked to be a fairly nice hotel. 'Sarge' was sitting in an overstuffed armchair to his left. 'Zippy,' and 'Angel' were sitting cross-legged on the bed to his right.

“Well, well, well. It looks like our Sleeping Beauty just woke up,” said 'Sarge.' “you should give up on that whole 'stealth' thing,” she added, “you suck at it.”

“Wha... huh?”

“Lucky for you,” added 'Angel.'

“Who are you and why did you follow us?” asked 'Zippy,' with a suspicious glower.

“What? Who?” He looked at himself under the covers. “I'm naked! Why am I naked?”

“Shut up! We're asking the questions here. What do you want? Why did you follow us?” 'Zippy' said again.

“Uh...”

“Your clothes were wet,” said 'Angel.' Mr Honeycutt, you may as well tell us what we want to know. My friends can get very creative when they want information.” His voice light, and almost completely free of menace.

“How...” He swallowed. “How did you know my name?”

'Angel' pointed to Emmett's wallet on the bedside table. “Your name is Emmett Honeycutt, and you were born and raised in Hazelhurst, Mississippi. You own a catering business you started just recently. You're gay, and currently single after you broke up with your last boyfriend. Right now, you are living with with a woman named Debbie Novotny, which I'm sure is a great comfort to her since her brother, Vic Grassi, died recently. Before that, you lived by yourself in an apartment, but you didn't seem to like living alone, because you moved out almost as soon as you moved in. Before that you were staying with a couple of friends of yours named Lindsay Peterson and Melanie Marcus—and their son, Gus, who's about two. Before that... Do I need to tell you more, or are you going to tell _us_ a few things?” Emmett goggled at him, and he sighed. “This is the information age, Mr Honeycutt, and we're very good at finding information when we need to. Now, why were you following us, and why did those guys try to kidnap you?”

“I don't know. I don't have any money. I don't have any enemies. I swear, there's no reason why anybody would do that.”

“And yet,” said 'Sarge,' “Last night somebody tried to force you into his car. Today two more somebodies tried to do the same thing again.” She leaned forward with her hands clasped under her chin, and her elbows on her knees. “How do you explain that?”

“Coincidence?” He smiled like a student who knew he was giving the wrong answer, but didn't have a clue what the right answer was.

“Oh, no,” she said, “once is a coincidence, twice is enemy action. The question is, who's your enemy, and why? I think we'd better keep you with us for the time being.” 'Angel' and 'Zippy' both looked grim as they nodded agreement.

“But I don't want to stay with you. I—”

“Then why did you follow us?” asked 'Zippy,' scowling.

Really, he was ridiculously like Auntie Dora's dog. Once Zippy—the original Zippy—had taken a ridiculous dislike to a new pair of Emmett's pants, and had bitten the left cuff, and absolutely refused to let go, Nothing—

“Well!”

“Oh!” Emmett started out of his reverie, and turned to 'Angel,' “Um, well... I have a good friend who's a detective... He wants to talk to you.”

'Angel' stared at him. Whatever he'd expected, Emmett thought, this wasn't it.

“Me? Talk to me? Why?”

“He wants to ask you about The Cowboy.”

“The… _What_?”

“The serial killer!”

“I don't know any serial killers.” 'Angel' actually looked like he believed that.

“You do too! He attacked my friend Melanie yesterday, and you saved her. Don't even try to deny it. My friend Justin works at the diner you ate lunch in yesterday. He drew your picture while you were eating there, and Melanie saw it right after you saved her life. She recognized you.”

“Oh! _That_ serial killer.” 'Angel' looked a little uneasy at hearing this. “Your detective friend wants to know about Lyle?” He sucked his lower lip between his teeth, and bit it gently. “OK, I guess should have seen that one coming,” he muttered.

'Sarge' looked thoughtful. “Xander, don't you think...”

'So,' Emmett thought, “ 'Angel's name is really Xander. It suits him; manly and solid, but exotic.'

“Maybe...,” said 'Ang'— _Xander_ , “What's your friend's name?”

“Horvath, Carl Horvath. Detective Carl Horvath.”

“Kennedy?”

She frowned. “Horvath... Willow told me a Detective Horvath ran the investigation of that murdered boy who was found in the dumpster. The one Reikert is supposed to have killed himself over.” She looked at Emmett. “Is that your friend?”

“Yes.”

Xander looked thoughtful. “Check him out too when you go to the station, OK? I think I'm going to want to talk to him, but I need to know more first.”

“What!” said Emmett, “What do you mean 'know more'? He's a police officer looking for a murderer, and you know the killer! What 'more' do you need to 'know'?”

“Mr Honeycutt—”

“Please, call me Emmett,” he said through a tooth-clenched smile. “You know _so_ much about me, we really ought to be on a first-name basis.”

“Emmett. Lyle... Believe me, he isn't a problem any more.”

“Oh, my God! You killed him! You're all some kind of vigilantes!”

Xander sighed. “We are not vigilantes, and I did not kill Lyle Gorch. In fact, I don't know who killed him, but I promise you, you can forget about him. He's not a danger to anybody anymore, and we have other problems to deal with. So your friend is just going to have to wait. You, on the other hand... I guess you'll just have to come along with me to Ohio.”

“What! I can't do that! I'm catering a party tonight, and I have to get ready. No. I absolutely refuse.” Emmett folded his arms and tried to look firm.

“Mr Honeycutt—”

“Emmett!”

“Emmett. There are people out there trying to kidnap you, and I strongly doubt they want to throw you a tea party. The sensible thing for you to do is to stay out of sight. Now, we can't leave you here by yourself. If one of those guys gets wind of you being here, and catches you alone—”

“So I'll go to the police station with her,” he said and pointed at Kennedy.

“Usually, that's what I'd say too, but...” Xander looked frustrated, “We're not ready to talk to them yet, and...”

“And we think something dirty's going on in the department,” Kennedy said.

“No. Carl would _never_ —”

“We're not accusing him. However... Oh, how can I say this... About two years ago a colleague of ours was kidnapped, tortured, and murdered, kind of like what I think somebody might be trying to do to you, and we suspect the killers have some kind of 'in' with the cops.”

“Oh.”

“Your friend is most likely clean. I hope to God he is; we need all the help we can get. But somebody there isn't, and that somebody is a danger to us, our work, and you. So no going to the cops. Not yet. You're just going to have to skip your party, and come to Ohio with me.”

“But I can't! It's not just a party, It's my business. Do you think it's easy to get a reputation for good work? I just flake off, nobody is going to hire me again.”

Something in that seemed to strike Xander. “Oh. Can't you get somebody to cover for you?”

“No, it's too late. The party starts in ten hours, and there are supposed to be at least fifty guests. There's the equipment to check, the last minute shopping to do, and lots things that can't be put together until the _very_ last minute. Have you ever had a soggy canape? They're disgusting! And somebody has to do all that starting four hours from now; six at the latest. The only other person who could have handled it died last month. We're short-handed as it is, and I'm the only one tying it together.”

“But if you got another caterer...”

“No! It won't work, I tell you. Maybe yesterday I could have, but if I try that now, it'll be a disaster. It's too late.”

“He's right.” 'Zippy' nodded solemnly. “A party for fifty isn't something you can just throw together at the last minute. If he's not where he's supposed to be, when he's supposed to be there, he can write the whole thing off.”

“Well,” said Kennedy, “can't you just give the money back? You'll have other customers.”

“No. This is an engagement party for Drew Boyd. He's a star player for the Ironmen, and if I let him down my name will be Mud in Pittsburgh. Oh, God...” Emmett felt like crying. “I'd rather go to the police and take my chances.”

“OK,” said Xander, and rubbed his eyes, “So you don't come to Ohio with me. But you still need somebody who knows the score to watch your back while you do your thing...”

He smiled, and then looked at Kennedy. She grinned, and nodded back. “Andrew!” they chorused.

“What? Me?” 'Zippy'—no, _Andrew_ thought for a moment. “Do you really think I can do it?”

Xander spread his hands. “I _know_ you can do it. In fact you're the best one for the job. I only make breakfast stuff, and Kennedy even burns water—”

“I do not,” she muttered.

“—There's no way we could pass ourselves off as caterers. They'd never suspect you're not one. You can stick close to Emmett, and if they try anything again... Well, you know how to handle it.”

“Yeah,” said Andrew softly, “yeah, I guess I do.” He sat up straighter, and turned to Emmett. “OK, I'll do it. But you're going to have to come to the morgue with me first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was beta-read by the ever-patient Mofetash when I posted it originally, but I've had to make some changes since. All feedback is welcome!


	12. More Pieces of the Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it turns out that Giles was right about how good he was at making predictions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-posted with some revisions here and there. Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Feedback is a lovely thing and makes me very happy.  
> ^_^

Sensing that going to the morgue with Andrew, and then bringing Andrew to the party with him was the best deal he was likely to get, Emmett didn't argue with their decision (much). Instead they all danced around the question of who Xander and his team were, and what they wanted. The only things Emmett could figure out were that they were investigating the murder of the colleague Xander had mentioned earlier, they had no official status (that they would discuss, anyway), and that there was something very, very important they were trying to find. He also got the feeling that they were good people, which made him feel better about not calling Carl right away.

Breakfast came. They hadn't known what Emmett liked, so they'd ordered several extras to make sure he got something he wanted. Kennedy bolted hers down and went into her room to change while he wasn't even halfway through his. When he got up to dress, he found that Andrew and Xander had hung his clothes over the hot air vent earlier after they'd stripped him and put him under the covers.

“Oooh, toasty.”

Xander grinned. “Nice, huh? It was Andrew's idea.”

“Andrew is obviously a genius.”

He felt a lot less vulnerable after he'd dressed. The memory of those ice-cold fingers on his neck, and what had almost happened to him... Brrr. Afterward, the three of them waited for Kennedy to finish dressing—apparently she was taking an unusually long time—and come back. The transformation was amazing, like a butterfly in reverse. She went into her room looking like a pretty, athletic high-school girl; she came out looking like a more-than-slightly frumpy office worker.

“Sweetie,” said Emmett, “I mean this in the nicest possible way: that outfit does absolutely nothing for you.”

“You look so...” Xander began.

“Old?”

“Well, yeah...”

“Good. I'm shooting for thirty-some. How'd I do?”

“Mid-twenties,” said Emmett

“Oh, well,” she grimaced, and put on a pair of heavy black-rimmed yes-I-am-an-English-teacher-why-do-you-ask glasses, “How about now?”

Emmett made a face. “Those'll do it. What are you trying to look like anyway?”

“Like someone the cops have to take seriously, unlike yesterday,” she said. “Willow called. That's what took me so long.”

Xander lit up. “Did they get anything yet?”

“Maybe a little. She said she and Giles didn't find anything on the design. They haven't recognized it from anywhere, but they're still looking. He says that based on Dent's background, it's gotta mean _something_ , and she says says it isn't like any of the mandalas she's ever seen, blah-blah, something about four-fold symmetry, blah-blah... She did point out that it _looks_ like two pentacles; one upside-down, and one right side-up.”

“Pentacles,” Xander said, “those are those 5-pointed stars, right?”

“Oh, yes,” said Emmett, “the ones you always see in cheesy movies about witches, covens, and the Antichrist.” He frowned. “Or is that penta _grams_?”

“Either, I think,” said Xander. “I think they're the same thing. Maybe one points up, and the other points down?”

Emmett shrugged, and shook his head.

“Can I see?” Andrew asked.

Xander opened a large sheet of graph paper that had been folded into quarters, unfolded it, and spread it out on the bed. Andrew reached out and traced the two designs with his forefinger as the rest of them watched.

“See? She's right. Two pentacles.” He frowned. “Only the middle of each side is missing, and...” He frowned. “This isn't right...”

Kennedy sighed. “That's what Willow said, but I just couldn't get her explanation. She really tried, but it's all 'Pythagoreans,' and 'extreme and mean ratios' and 'phi,' and she said 'it's the kind of thing you have to see it to understand it,' and she couldn't explain what she meant over the phone. Anyway, then she said they aren't really pentacles, and that if you trace the lines, you wind up with one ten-pointed star instead of two five-pointed ones, only it isn't just _that_ either. I understood that bit.”

Andrew said, “right,” and touched a point on the edge of the design. “If you trace this, you go,” his hand swooped along the broken line to the next point, “one,” his hand moved again, “two,” and again, “three,” and again “four,” and again, “five.” His hand stopped at the point opposite the one he'd started from. “If this were a pentacle, I'd be back at the beginning now, but I'm only half way. 'Six,' 'seven,' eight,' nine,' 'ten.' Now I'm back where I started. If this really were a pentacle, I'd start here, and go straight to this one, then this one, then this one, then this one, and then back to the beginning. But that's not the way the lines on this design go. Whatever this is, it's not pentacles. And look at this: here's another ten-point star inside it, and a littler one nested in that one.” He shook his head. “If it's a symbol of anything, I've never seen it before.”

“So it's probably important, but we don't know why,” said Xander. “What about the rest?”

“Willow hasn't gotten very far with checking on those trees, she's too busy trying to figure out what this,” she pointed at the design, “can possibly be. And Giles said Andrew's probably right that all the scribbles show where writing would be, but Dent's sketch is just too rough. We either have to find the real thing, or get our hands on more detailed drawings.”

“OK, something for me to do at Maitland's today,” said Xander. “They might have the working drawing around somewhere. Anything else?”

Kennedy looked up sharply. “Just one thing. Willow says the 'animal' bite marks on Dent's body didn't actually match any known animal.”

“Do they match human bites at all?” asked Xander.

“Oh! Now that is so disgusting.” Emmett wrinkled his nose.

Kennedy smiled at him briefly. “Yes, it is, and yes they do match, a little. The report says, and I quote: 'the size, shape and angles of the maxillary and mandibular arches are similar to those of a human mouth, but whatever it was had longer, sharper teeth'.” She looked up at the others and raised her eyebrows quizzically.

“Huh,” said Xander, and looked off into space, frowning.

Emmett had the feeling they were speaking in some kind of code, and not for his benefit. “Well,” he folded his arms, “as fascinating as all this is, I need to go get ready for tonight, so if we're going to need much time at the morgue, and let me just say how much I'd prefer _not_ to go there, we'd better leave.” He looked at Andrew. “How much time is this going to take?”

“Well, it took me about two hours to get the one file yesterday, but we're getting three today...” He thought a moment, and then brightened. “Actually it shouldn't take that long. You can do the photocopying while I run the negatives over to the developing lab. That'll cut the time down a lot, which is good. I was thinking copying three reports instead of just one would fall outside the time window.”

“There's a time window?” asked Emmett.

“Well, _you_ said you needed to get started at work in less than four hours.”

“Oh, right.”

“Speaking of getting files,” said Kennedy, “I may need some of that stuff, Andrew. I don't think the cops are just going to let me waltz out with that information.”

“Me too,” said Xander, “I'm kind of _persona non grata_ over at Maitland's. I let it slip I'm living in Cleveland, and this guy working there has issues. I think if he sees me again he's gonna sock me.”

“Right, OK, I've got it in my backpack.” He pulled it up onto his bed and began to rummage through it.

“Whoa, wait just a minute here! What's this you're talking about?” asked Emmett.

“They need some stuff to help them get past security set-ups. I'm not supposed to talk about it,” Andrew said.

“Is this like hacker 'stuff'? Is this illegal? You didn't say we were going to do anything illegal.”

The other three looked at each other, and then Xander said, “Look, Emmett, the information we need is public record. There's nothing illegal about having it, we just can't go through channels to get it. If the guys who killed our colleague hear we've been poking around, they'll go so far underground we'll never find them. And if you doubt how serious this thing is, take a look at that autopsy report on the table over there, and think again.”

“Oh.” He craned his neck, and tried to see into Andrew's bag. “Is it like lockpicks or what?”

“No, it's more like...” He jammed the top of his backpack closed. “Hey! I said I'm not supposed to talk about it, OK? Anyway _we_ won't be needing it. I arranged for passes for us.”

“Oh,” said Emmett.

So here he was, stuck in a James Bond fantasy, and no toy—secret gadgets to show for it. He never got to see whatever it was they were using; Andrew handed it to the others while he was in the bathroom. At any rate they left the hotel and went their separate ways right after Xander put out the dishes, and hung the do-not-disturb sign on the door handle.

************************************

The morgue had turned out to be a warm-colored sandstone building that looked a little like a medieval castle. He'd expected something more antiseptic and institutional; more hospital-looking.

“What would be the point?” Andrew had said, “This place is about the law, not life.”

Getting the files had been unthinkably easy. He hadn't believed that just borrowing white lab coats, sticking name badges on them and acting like they belonged there would make them all that ignorable, but it really worked. 'Like a charm,' Andrew had said and smirked after he'd expressed his surprise when the file room clerk simply gave them the files Andrew had requested.

“Where'd you get the badges?”

“When I was here yesterday. I thought they might be handy if I had to come back again.”

“Why not use that thing again.”

“It's better not to if you don't have to. Stuff like that doesn't always work like you expect.”

“Like if they change the passwords?”

“Mmm.”

Emmett had spent the next hour battling a cranky old Xerox machine while Andrew was in the photo lab. He had felt nervous at first, but by the time a passing lab tech had made a bitter observation about budget cuts and the lack of maintenance for vital equipment, his sense of self-preservation had been replaced by seething rage. “ _Tell_ me about it,” he'd snarled. “Do you know how to make this fucking thing work?” The tech showed him how to unjam it and went on his way. He was nearly done when Andrew got back with the photos.

“Just don't make me look at them,” Emmett had asked.

“Don't worry. You won't have to.” Andrew had looked like he wished he could say the same for himself.

They'd returned the files to the file room, and the lab coats to the laundry and were on their way out when they heard someone come out of a room they had just walked past.

“What pretty fellows,” crooned a honeyed voice behind them. They turned to see a dark-haired woman in a red and black dress. She was barefoot.

“How funny,” she giggled. “You think I don't belong here, but I do. And so do you, though you think you don't.”

Emmett couldn't place her accent for sure, but he thought she sounded kind of like Eliza Doolittle before Henry Higgins' lessons. She swayed closer as Andrew pushed Emmett back toward to the door behind them with his left hand.

“Stay back!” snapped Andrew. “I know how to use this.”

He gripped something—Emmett thought it might be a gun—nervously in his right.

“Naughty.” She smiled prettily at Emmett and then focused on Andrew again. “He has no idea what you are, does he? He's one of the pure, while you… Do you think you can erase what you did? Only blood washes out blood.”

“No, it just makes things worse,” said Andrew.

She paid no attention. “You now, you...” she went on dreamily, and inhaled deeply. “You smell like _him_. I tried to catch him once and make him mine, but he got away again. He's no good for a silly moth like you. Shall I tell you a story?”

“Um… OK,” said Andrew, still subtly backing away from her.

She smiled knowingly. “Liar. I shall tell you anyway. Long, long ago there was a handsome prince who loved the sun even though it burned him cruelly. One night a beautiful princess found him crying from the pain of it. She saved him. Took him away to live with her in the dark and be her knight. Her daddy and grandmummy, the King and Queen, didn't think he was right for their pretty princess, but they allowed her to keep him anyway and trained him up proper. For a few short years the four of them were all very happy together. Then, one day, a bad witch cast a spell on the King that made him hate the dark. Now wasn't that a terrible thing to do? He envied the others their happiness so much that he couldn't stay with them any more. After he ran away, the queen returned to her father, but the princess still had her knight. For a hundred years, they were happy together under the stars, although she missed her daddy and grandmummy. Do you miss your daddy, my pet?”

She stared at Andrew until he shook his head.

“Tch! Well, one day, many, many years later, they found the king again on the other side of the world. They were very glad to see him again, but he played a nasty trick on them. He pretended to give the knight a present. It was another boy; all dark and pretty on the outside but burning bright on the inside. From that day, little by little, the knight began to forget his princess and long for the light again until it finally consumed him. Yes it did, my poppet, the light burned him all up. Only then, when it was far, far too late to save her knight, did the princess realize what her spiteful daddy had really done. Isn't that a sad story?” She smiled at Andrew again with sly malice.

“Yes. Very sad,” Emmett said, not liking the look on her face at all, “but I'm afraid we really must be going now.

“Shh!” Andrew nudged him closer to the door.

“You're a silly child. He doesn't understand, does he? But _you_ do. I could save you and keep you for ever and ever. You never loved the light like he did. Like he does. One little kiss and you'll never, ever have nightmares again.” She began to creep toward Andrew slowly and sinuously. Emmett was reminded of how a cobra he'd seen on a documentary once had moved. “You could have what you want most then. Any way you like. He smells like...” She inhaled deeply again, “a rainbow in the mountains.”

“Get back!” Andrew yelled and held the thing in his hand toward her.

'A _cross_?' thought Emmett. She stopped, though, and even backed up bit. 'OK… Even crazy people don't want to mess with holy rollers.' He could understand that well enough. His own upbringing had left him a little gun-shy of them too.

“Sorry,” said Andrew “I'm not like that. Not anymore.”

“You'll die, you know,”

Andrew didn't say anything.

She smiled terribly. “And then you'll be very, very cold, just like all the friends you've left behind. Think on that. Until we meet again.” She nodded, turned and walked away as graceful and delicate as a swaying lily.

Andrew didn't relax until she went out the double doors at the other end of the hall. “Not if I see you first,” he muttered. He didn't relax until they were out in the sunlight.

“Who _was_ that?” Emmett had to admit, he'd seen more than his share of weirdos, but never one like quite like her.

“I don't know who,” Andrew bit his lip, “but I bet I know what. We better tell the rest of the gang about her. She should _not_ be here.”

“Oh, well.” Emmett shrugged, “It's a free country isn't it? Listen, it's been fun, but I've done what you wanted me to do. Now I have to go to work, OK?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure. But do we have time to stop at a copy shop first and send the scans to Willow?”

“Well...” Emmett looked at his watch. “OK, I guess we have a little time.”

That's where they were when Emmett got the call on his cell; his dessert chef had been arrested, and wouldn't be out in time to help get ready for the party.


	13. Visible Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Xander is reminded that it's the little mistakes that can hang you out to dry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies; I'm going to be busy until the end of the year with exams and grading, so it'll be at least two weeks until the next chapter gets posted.

Xander climbed into the driver's seat of the SUV for the third day in a row soon after Emmett and Andrew headed out to the morgue. At this rate he was going to be one of the best one-eyed drivers in North America, whether he wanted to be or not. He had to admit the big mirrors Giles'd had put on really helped. Kennedy jumped up into the front passenger seat.

“You sure you don't want me to come with you?” she said.

“Thanks, but Andrew's brew should keep me covered, and we don't have all the time in the world. Besides, if I can't do this by myself, the two of us aren't going to do any better.”

“OK, then. I guess I'll see you at the party if we don't hook up back at the copy shop or the hotel first.” She scowled “Most likely at the party, though.”

Xander nodded. “Hey, daytime, plus Andrew's with him.”

“Xander, I'm having some second thoughts about this. The guy gets attacked by vampires twice in two days. We should have _made_ him go with you. They're going to know where to find him now.”

“You heard him. If this party flops, his business is finished. He really would rather risk being killed than have that happen.”

“At least he'd still be alive. You know what Willow said about those bites. At least one of the kidnappers was a vampire, and now vampires want Emmett Honeycutt bad enough to go after him in daytime.”

“They got lucky. If he hadn't gone into the shade right where they were waiting—”

“ _He_ was lucky we were there when it happened.

“True. And we're going to do our best to make sure he stays lucky.”

“Andrew—”

“Andrew can handle it for now. He knows what to look out for, plus he's got stakes, crosses, holy water and that little torch thing he likes to use for crème brulee. They'll be fine. We just have to make sure we get there before dark, OK?”

She sighed. “OK. You'd better be right.”

“Yes, I'd better.” He bit his lip. “Right. You have everything you need?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yah, 'Boss,' potion, camera, USB key, floppies. All here. God, it's nice to have a computer geek for a girlfriend.” She grinned. “You're going to have to stop and buy all that stuff.”

Thank God Willow had been able to line them all up for him at a computer store on the way to Maitland's; he'd be in and out in half an hour if things went right. “Just be sure you get an I.D. Card, or whatever they use—”

“Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, I'm on it. Ah! There it is. Just let me out at the light, OK?”

“At your service, milady. Oh, um, see if you can find out just how hard they're looking for me, OK?”

She flashed him a 'thumbs up' sign, and hopped out onto the sidewalk. He headed on out to the computer store, and then Maitland's. Traffic was heavy, but most of it was headed into Pittsburgh, and he knew the way this time, so he didn't take very long.

He arrived at about eleven o'clock, and spent a few moments contemplating Andrew's potion. Even though Giles (and Andrew) had both said the potion, while “not very pleasant,” it was effective and harmless if used properly. Xander still didn't want to drink it. It would have made him a lot less nervous, he reflected, if he could think of a single time magic had ever worked right for him. He couldn't. He drank it anyway.

“Be sure you drink it all,” Andrew had said, “it isn't easy. That is the nastiest stuff **ever**.” He hadn't been kidding. It was numbing and nauseatingly bitter at the same time, and Xander really wanted to spit it out. And maybe keep on spitting for a week or so. He swallowed. It burned and chilled all the way to his stomach, and he hung onto the steering wheel, waiting for the dizziness and nausea to wear off Gradually he realized he'd been leaning against the wheel long enough for the pattern of the wheel cover to be imprinted into his forehead. He groaned, wiped the cold sweat off his face, and leaned the side of his head against the door window. “You'll know the potion's working 'cause you won't feel like throwing up any more,” Andrew had said. Gradually, the spasms eased off, and Xander opened the door and got out.

“If that's magic,” he thought, “I'll take Lima beans. Bleah!”

He walked down the block, and went through Maitland's front gate. He waved at a couple of the men who worked there, but they didn't wave back. Andrew had explained, “it's not really an invisibility spell. It just keeps people from noticing you, or anything you're doing. You only really turn invisible if you take it too much.” Rather quickly Xander learned the first drawback to being 'invisible'; nobody got out of your way. In fact, they walked right over you, and never noticed. He hoped that Marcie Ross was happy wherever she was now.

As luck had it, Steve was with his crew eating lunch in the shop, a fact that Xander was heartily glad of. It would have felt _really_ strange to go through his records right in front of him. He pulled out the binders Steve had shown him the day before, settled down to take another look, and started taking pictures. There wasn't much about the wardrobe that he hadn't noticed before. It really was a shame that the original pictures were so small and fuzzy; he couldn't get good images with his new digital camera at all, and he doubted that even if he found the negatives, and sent them off to Willow she'd be able to make them any clearer.

He turned to the other binder and wondered for a moment whether Giles would be willing to plunk down the shekels it would take to shelve the PMS Palace with FAS quarter-sawn red oak like that. He seriously doubted it. There were more expensive woods, but there were many, many more cheaper ones that would do the job just as well. Besides, if Xander had his choice, he'd go for, say, a honey mesquite or black walnut, or maybe wenge... He shook his head and went back to studying the shelves. When he'd looked at this file the day before, he'd been more interested in what the dates and contract details could tell him about Dent's last days, which was probably why he hadn't noticed the design on the front posts before. He was trying to make out the details when somebody grabbed him from behind, and held him in bear hug with his pinned arms to his sides. He threw himself backward in a panic of adrenaline, tried to head-butt him in the face, wiggled, and kicked, but the man holding him was too big, and much too strong for Xander to break his hold.

“I told you to get out,” Phil hissed into his left ear, “You should've stayed out. Hey Steve!”

“Yeah?” came his voice from the shop floor.

“Could you come in here a minute? I need to ask you something.”

“OK.” In a moment, the sound of his footsteps could be heard, and then he was at the door. “Yeah?”

“Did you tell this guy he could poke through this stuff?”

“What guy?”

“ _This_ guy!”

“I didn't see him. What did he look like?” Steve asked, and looked puzzled.

“It's the guy from yesterday! The one with the eyepatch...”

Steve just raised his eyebrows.

“From Cleveland?” asked Phil.

Steve shook his head, concerned. “Phil, I think maybe you need to chill, maybe talk to somebody? I'm sorry about what happened to Helen, but it's been almost twelve years. And this hate-on you have for everybody from your hometown... It's not healthy.”

“You can't see him?”

“Who?”

“The eyepatch guy!”

“Where?” Steve half turned, and craned his head to look around the shop. “Did he come back? I don't see him. He must've went.”

Xander could feel Phil shake his head. “Aw, forget it,” he finally said.

Steve hesitated a moment. “Think about getting some help, OK? I mean it.”

“OK, I... I'll think about it.”

Steve nodded at Phil, and turned to go back out to the shop floor.

“Um, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to, uh, check some records, and I think I'm going to be in here for a while. That OK?”

“How's that chest set coming?”

“She changed her mind about the hinges and the clasps, just like I said she would. I can't do anything until the new ones come in. You need another hand on the floor?

“Naw, we got it covered. You have paperwork you need to do, now's a good time. I'll holler if we need you,” said Steve.

“Thanks.”

Steve turned again and left.

“Alright. How the hell did you do that?” Phil said, sounding equally hostile and curious.

Xander winced. “Would you believe, magic?”

“Figures.”

 “Look, I come in peace." He sighed. "Just let me go, and I can explain.”

“How about if I keep ahold of you, and you explain anyway?”

“OK, OK, I get that, but that salami or whatever you had for lunch... Well, I don't feel so good...” He really didn't. He felt like that potion was coming back on him, and if it was awful going down... He willed his stomach to behave, and swallowed hard.

Something in his complexion, must have persuaded Phil because he said, “OK, but if you try anything, and I mean anything, funny; I'm gonna hurt you. Got it?”

“OK, fair enough.” Phil's arms fell away, and he backed off, but not so far that he couldn't grab Xander again easily. As he moved away, Xander could see he had a stake shoved into his waistband. “I've got one of those,” he said, pointing at it.

Phil nodded. “Seen it when I checked you out in the mirror. That's why I didn't just clock you with a 2-by-2.”

“Ow. OK, so... you're from Cleveland, huh? I'm from Sunnydale.”

“And this means what to me?”

“Sunnydale is... was... used to be a lot like Cleveland. Only with better weather.”

“Used to be?”

“Now it's a great, big hole in the ground.”

Phil considered this for a moment, then said, “I heard about that. In California last spring, right?” Xander nodded. “Oh. That's too bad.” He paused for a moment. “All your people get out OK?”

“No.”

“Oh. Um... I'm sorry to hear it.” he said, in an oddly formal tone. Xander couldn't think of anything to say to that. When Phil finally spoke again, the 'tough guy' attitude was gone. “Why can't they see you?” he asked, and jerked his head back to indicate the shop floor.

Xander pulled himself back to the present. “Like I said; magic. I took a potion to make myself invisible. Well, kind of invisible. It really just keeps people from noticing me.”

“That's handy. I bet you could make a lot of money with that, robbing banks and such.”

Xander made a disgusted face. “No thanks. It tastes really, really horrible. And it makes you feel sick, too. And on top of that, it doesn't even work on everybody. Obviously.”

“I wonder why not. It seemed to work on Steve just fine.”

“Well, the guy who gave it to me warned me it was kind of iffy. He had this whole list of people it wouldn't work on; witches, vampires, people from hellmouths… Shit.” He'd forgotten about that one.

“What's a hellmouth?” asked Phil.

“A hellmouth,” said Xander, feeling like a student who remembered the answer just after he turned in his exam paper, “is a place where the walls between dimensions are thinner than other places. See, we live in just one dimension, but there are a bunch of others. Some of them are just like ours, except for one teeny-tiny difference. I heard there was one with no shrimp, for instance. And that was the only difference. Other dimensions are really different; they're like hell to human beings. Sometimes stuff from places like that kind of leaks through.”

Phil's eyes narrowed, and he scowled in thought. “Cleveland is a hellmouth.”

“There's one _in_ Cleveland, yeah,” said Xander, “We haven't been able to pin down where it is exactly yet.”

“Your hometown had a hellmouth too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And now it's a giant crater.”

“That's right. The hellmouth there got closed up, and it all fell in on itself.”

Phil smiled bitterly. “I guess I have something to hope for, then.”

“Oh. Um...”

“So, these 'hellmouth' places, I guess a lot of weird, bad stuff happens there, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Xander. "My hometown, we had vampires, demons and zombies like most places have roaches.”

“Mine too.” He put his hand on the scar on his throat.

“Did one of them...”

“Her name was Helen. She _was_ my wife.”

“Oh.” Jesus. And didn't he know just how that felt? “They got my best friend when I was 16, and when he came back he wasn't Jesse any more, and I was just dinner to him.”

“They got her one night when she stayed too late at the store. She'd pulled a double shift, and didn't tell me so I could come get her. She never believed me when I told her she had to watch out for those things. She thought I was joking. How would she know? She was from Chillicothe. The next time I saw her... ”

“At least you warned her. Nobody told us. Once when I was seven, I stayed out after dark, and when I got home my Mom was just about hysterical. She spanked me so hard... And she grounded me for a month.” It occurred to Xander that she had still cared then too. How strange, to have a painful memory suddenly make you feel almost warm and cherished. He rushed on. “But nobody warned me about anything. I overheard our school librarian and the new girl talking about them, and I thought they were crazy. Until I found out they weren't. Ever since then it's been one damned thing—and I mean that literally—after another.”

“Huh. We thought our wood shop teacher was out of his mind. He used to have the boys' health classes. Big old ex-navy guy with a flattop. You know the banana lecture?" Xander nodded. "With him it lasted about two minutes: 'You see this? Put it on this way, not that way. Don't screw around without one. Read the goddamn instructions, you pinheads. You knock a girl up, I will plant my boot up your asses so far you will have to brush your teeth with shoe polish. Got that? Now listen up'.” Phil smiled wistfully, but only for a moment. “And then he'd talk about _them_. We thought he was totally nuts. He'd sit there, whittling, and glaring at us, and tell us things like 'never invite people into your house; don't even put out a welcome mat,' and 'stab 'em in the heart with one of _these_ ,' and 'fire kills almost everything.' I always carried a lighter after I found out he wasn't crazy. Until Helen. She burned...” He stroked the scar, unthinking. “I just... I had enough after that.”

“And so you came here.”

“And so I came here.” Phil was silent for a long moment. “Why are you there, in Cleveland? You ain't had enough of living on a hellmouth?”

“Ah. Well, guess not.”

“Wha's wrong with you? You stupid or something? You know what it's like there.” Funny how the animosity had completely vanished.

“I have friends there. I can't just... well...”

“So why are you _here_? What do you want from us?”

Well, one good thing about talking with a former hellmouth-dweller; you didn't need to hide anything. What the hell, he'd already told him about Jesse. “You remember Phillip Dent?”

“What?”

“The man you made that wardrobe for back in '95.”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“He's dead. Vamps got him about two years ago, but not for the usual reason.”

“Well, shit,” Phil sighed, “We all liked him here.”

“Nice guy?”

“Oh, yeah. He and Steve's dad used to get on like a house on fire. I remember Dent even came to the funeral.”

Every once in a while, Xander would get the feeling that he was on the edge of something; that if he found juuuust the right angle to look from, he'd see how everything fit together. He was getting that feeling now. “Did Mr Maitland pass on while you all were working on something for Mr. Dent?”

“Aw, no. It happened right after I moved down here from Cleveland. I remember. It was the first funeral I ever went to for someone who died of natural causes.”

“It's different, isn't it? Not any better, though.”

“No, not really.”

Xander hesitated a moment. “I didn't get the impression Steve knew Mr Dent very well...”

“No, I don't think he even knew him at all. He was away most of the time back then. College first, then he joined the Peace Corps. He was somewhere in Ghana when his Dad had the attack. Barely made it back for the funeral.”

“So... How did Steve's father and Mr Dent know each other?”

Phil shrugged. “Dunno. They met before I got here.”

“Would you mind... telling me just how many jobs Maitland's did for him?” Phil just looked suspicious. “It's important.”

“Convince me. Why is it important?” Xander gnawed at the inside of his lower lip, and tried to think of something to say. “Look the hellmouth stuff aside, I don't know you from Adam's off ox, and I told you probably more than I should've. It's your turn.”

“OK... Yeah, I guess. So I told you vampires killed Mr Dent, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They didn't drink his blood. They wanted something else.”

“Go on.”

“The thing is... Dent belonged to an organization that fought—fights vampires.”

“You mean he was like a kind of secret agent or something?”

“Yeah, kind of like that. Anyway, sixteen, seventeen years ago they sent him here to keep an eye on the Cleveland hellmouth.”

“An old guy like that! Are they nuts?”

“Not that nuts. They put him in Pittsburgh 'cause they thought it was a safer place to watch from. Not safe enough, I guess. Somehow the vamps must have gotten on to him.”

Phil just looked at him.

“OK, then. Now we fast forward to the present. I have a good friend that works for the same bunch. A few days ago he learns that Dent is supposed to be in Pittsburgh, and he sends me down there to look him up and share information.”

“Share information? What kind of information?”

“OK, so there're more demons around than just vampires, right? A _lot_ more. And they can't all be killed with stakes or fire. If you don't know how to fight them, you're SOL. Our library got destroyed when the Sunnydale hellmouth collapsed, and we were hoping to borrow some of Dent's books.”

“And then you found out he was dead when you got there.”

“Yup.”

“And I bet his books vanished too.”

“Yup.”

“And now _they_ have them, and you're trying to get them back.”

“Y—no. Maybe. I mean we're trying to get them back, but we don't know that the vampires have them. I'm hoping not, anyway. There's a couple of things. First of all, people in Dent's line of work, well, they can be pretty sneaky, and he was working alone. If I were him, I wouldn't have kept the books out where any Vlad, Nick or Lestat would find them. I would have hidden them, and left some clues for my fellow watchers just in case something happened to me.”

“Oh? You wouldn't, like, maybe _tell_ one or two of the higher-ups in your organization where to find them?” asked Phil with a very sardonic look on his face.

Xander sighed. “Yeah, I'd probably do that too.”

“So why don't you ask them?”

“Ah. They're all dead. A big bad blew up HQ last year; took them with it.”

“Oh.”

“Uh-huh.”

Phil was silent for a moment. “So what now?”

He shrugged. “We rebuild.”

“In Cleveland.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Better you than me. OK, You said a couple of things. What was the other?”

“Dent's body. The autopsy said that he had been, well, tortured, but he died of a heart attack.”

“Christ!”

“Yeah. It was pretty bad, but with that bunch, it's usually a lot worse. If he'd told them where the books were, they would have either kept on hurting him for fun, or they would have just had him for dinner. Either way, he wouldn't have died of a heart attack.”

“So now you're here looking for clues. Why do you think you'll find any here?”

“Well, I have to start somewhere, and there aren't a lot of other places to look. The last thing we know he did before he was killed was pay you guys off for those bookshelves—”

“We?”

“The other members of my team. They're checking out some other stuff.”

“So you're not doing this alone? Good. At least you're not a complete lunatic.” Phil shook his head. “Wait a minute! You said he was killed right after we finished his job?”

“Yeah?”

“We had a break-in about a week after that.”

“Awww... Crud. What'd they get?”

“Petty cash, the office computer… All the files, folders and plans for built-in shelves since 1985. I guess they were looking for clues too. We found what was left of them in a trash can down the street the next day. Ashes mostly.”

“So that's it.” Xander said, and slumped. “They got the info. We don't. Dead end.”

“Ha. They wish.” Phil grinned wolfishly. “There was a fire here back in '82, and ever since then Maitland's keeps backup copies of everything in a document storage company. We had it all back again in three days. It's all here. And I can do you one better. They only had the plans here; I got all the working drawings at my home. Plus better photos than what they got here. Lots of close-ups.”

“Working drawings? For the wardrobe?”

“And the bookshelves. They wanted me to make the inlay on the new shelves go with the ones Steve's dad did way back, so they gave me the drawings for those ones too. What do you need?”

“Everything! Anything you've got to do with Dent; anything you can give me: receipts, invoices, anything at all with Dent's name on it.”

“Well...” Phil didn't want to let Xander copy the financial record onto his USB key, but he saw the necessity of it. Xander promised to erase all the files if there turned out to be nothing important in them, or if they found the books. Willow promised to do the same when they called her on Phil's cell. Things went very smoothly after that, except for Xander getting carsick on the way to Phil's place. He felt a lot better after that, actually.


	14. Checking Out the Cops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kennedy finally gets to interrogate a policeman, for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's a little more. Still pretty busy at work, but I hope to have another one next weekend.

Kennedy paused outside the doors of the police station to check her reflection in the glass, and practiced her persona. 'Look grim,' she told herself. 'You have zero sense of humor. Think “Buffy giving a speech”—no think “listening to Buffy giving a speech”.' That seemed to work. She patted her hair and went on in. The desk sergeant may have somehow (not inadvertently on her part, to be honest) gotten the impression she was some kind of lawyer when she told him she needed to speak with J. Charles Simms about one of his cases. Without demurral, he called Simm's desk to make sure he was available and then gave her a visitor's badge and directions.

It was very different from the 'go back to Cleveland kid; ya bodder us' reception she'd gotten a bare 24 hours earlier.

Simms turned out to be a pale-complexioned man in his late forties wearing a conservative charcoal-gray wool suit and a diamond pinkie-ring. From the top of his neatly coiffed brown head down to the tips of his mirror-shined black shoes, he looked like he belonged more in a corporate boardroom than a police station. He smelled even more expensive than he looked.

'Uncle Dougie,' she thought, 'I'd like you to meet your competition. Not exactly what I expected. Now, I wonder where he gets the money to pay for it. Hmm. Well, _Antonia_ , lets remember to try to sound just a little British. And let's do try to remember to channel Giles, not Spike.' She cleared her throat. “Detective Simms?”

He leaned back in his chair and looked up at her. “That's right. What can I do for you, Ms...?”

“Dvorak.” She and Willow had had fun picking out her alias that morning. “I understand you are the person I need to see about the Dent case.”

“Oh.” He waved her toward the wooden chair next to his desk with an open hand.

She sat upright, placing her purse primly in her lap.

“The, ah, Dent case, you say?

“Yes. Phillip Dent. A British expatriate who was murdered here in Pittsburgh about two years ago. I was informed you are the person I need to see regarding his case.”

“Ah. Just a moment.” He turned in his seat, and tapped 'Phillip Dent' into his keyboard. “I see… Monongahela river, a year ago last March..." He trailed off muttering to himself. "And your interest in this case is?” He finally looked up at her.

“Mr. Dent was an old friend and colleague of my grandfather's. He hadn't heard from him for a while, so he gave me his address and asked me to look him up. Imagine my shock when I found that he's dead. Murdered. Naturally my grandfather is going to be very upset when I let him know. I want to at least be able to tell him what steps have been taken to arrest his old friend's killer.”

If Simms were annoyed or nervous, he showed no sign of it. “Ah, so you don't have any new information in the case?”

“No. How could I? I've only just arrived in Pittsburgh today." She stared at him over the tops of her glasses; doing her best to give him that look her old watcher used to use on her when she slacked off training.

He ignored it and squinted at his monitor again. “Hm. I see. Well, I'm afraid we don't really have any good leads. The most likely suspect that we've been able to turn up is dead.”

“Oh? How?” she asked.

“Natural causes,” he leaned back in his chair still frowning at the screen, “according to this report. A man matching the profile they'd developed of the killer had died in Mercy Hospital a month after the murder. It says here that he'd confessed to having committed the murder while he was dying.”

Don't you _know_ what's in the report? Didn't you write it?” She asked. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized that she had sounded much more censorious that she should have. However, if her tone bothered Simms, she could see no sign of it.

“No, I didn't. The officer who wrote this is retired. I read the file when I got the case, but to be honest cases like this... Well, we don't give up on them, but they're not exactly top priority, not unless something new turns up. I was hoping maybe you had something.”

She hesitated. If Simms was connected to Dent's killers, the next thing she was going to say could rebound on her and the rest of the team in a very nasty way, in spite of all the precautions they'd taken. She didn't feel she had a good enough sense of him to say whether he were honest or not. If he were anything like 'Dougie the pinhead...' On the other hand, hinting she was connected to the Watcher's Council could also shake loose some very important information, if it reached the right wrong ears. “Well...”

“Well?” He sat upright and looked at her intently.

“My grandfather retired many years ago, but...”

“But...?” he asked, making a 'tell me more' gesture.

“He still kept in touch… Until several of his other former colleagues were killed in an explosion at their company headquarters about a year ago, just before Christmas. The police said it was a bomb, and then grandfather didn't get his usual New Year's card from Mr. Dent. It worried him, so when I told him that I was moving to Baltimore, he asked me to look his old friend up.”

“Baltimore?” Simms eyebrows rose. “Isn't that a long way to come?”

She waved dismissively. "Grandfather has never visited the USA. I don't think he really understands the distances involved. Anyway, I was glad to do it for him.”

“I see,” said Simms. “And now you wonder whether the murders could possibly be linked?”

“Well, yes...”

“I suppose it's possible, but... Was Mr. Dent retired, to your knowledge?” he asked.

“I couldn't say.”

“Well, whether he was or wasn't, a connection doesn't seem likely.” He cocked his head to the right, and looked at the ceiling, thinking. “When and where exactly were your grandfather's colleagues killed?”

“In London, last December. The twenty-third, I think.”

“Hmm, Mr. Dent was killed in February that same year. That's about ten months apart... The methods were different, in totally different countries... It doesn't seem _likely_ that the cases are connected. What company did your grandfather and Mr. Dent work for?”

“Sorry, I don't really remember. It was something dull and financial; in the insurance end of business, I think. Grandfather doesn't discuss it much; I think it bores even him. He prefers to witter on about his vegetable garden. Organic, of course.” She smiled, as if in fond recollection.

“Of course. It's the best way—” Simms checked himself. “Never mind. So, nothing leaps out at you for a motive there, I suppose?”

“No, and then there's the confession you mentioned.” He nodded, and she pursed her lips. “I should like to know more about that, if I may.”

“Well, you must understand I can't tell you all the details, but if you'll just wait a moment...” He checked a number on the monitor screen, went over to the file cabinet against the wall to retrieve the matching file. “Here it is. Now,” he opened it, and held out it out at arm's length, and glaring at it as he looked it over. “It says here that the suspect was found sleeping out in the open at about the time Dent was killed, not far from where the body was later recovered.”

“So he had the opportunity. In theory, anyway. Can you tell me about the physical evidence?”

“Not exactly. There were several animal bites on the victim's body, the suspect had a large, vicious dog that had to be put down after he died, but...”

“Did the dog's teeth match the bites on Dent's body?” she asked.

Simms coughed discreetly into his hand. “No. The dog's body was cremated right after he was put down, and the detective who had the case back then didn't suspect he was the animal who'd bitten Dent until much later.”

“What about the suspect? What did he die of?”

“Pneumonia, according to this.”

“I see. Did he have a fever?”

“It doesn't say here, but it's likely.”

“So he may have been out of his head, confessing to something completely different.”

Simms looked at her, expressionless. “Maybe. Not necessarily, though.”

Kennedy sat up even stiffer, and tried for the “ultra-prissy” look she'd practiced in the mirror that morning. “Don't you think that case is a little thin?”

“It's very thin, but it's the only case we've got.” Well, at least he was being candid.

“I see. Well then, if I might have your telephone number in case I or my grandfather have any further questions...?”

“Of course,” he said. He took a card out of his breast pocket and gave it to her. “And may I have yours, just in case?”

“I'm sorry,” she said, “I'm still in the middle of moving, and I don't have my new phone set up yet... I can give you the number of a friend of mine who's taking my messages.” Giles, bless his paranoia, had asked Willow to arrange an untraceable emergency telephone number right after they had all moved into the PMS Palace. “I check with her at least twice a day.”

“OK. That should be fine.” He nudged a Hello Kitty notepad and a squat, lumpy, grayish-green mug-shaped thing full of well-chewed pencils toward her. She stared at the pencil-holder; it was possibly the ugliest thing she'd seen since the last demon she'd fought in Cleveland. Detective Simms shifted in his seat, looking embarrassed. “I know. It's a disgusting habit, but I just can't seem to break it.” He slapped his pockets, looking for another writing utensil, but when the only pen he was able to find turned out to be as chewed-up as the pencils, Kennedy took pity on him.

“That's quite all right. I have a pen here.” She fished it out of her purse, and wrote her alias and the number on a page from the Hello Kitty pad, and gave it back to him. “Just tell them it's a message for 'Tony,' and they'll pass it along."

“Thank you,” he said.

“Well, Detective, you've been most kind, most helpful, and if I hear anything, I'll be sure to pass it along.” She put her pen and his card in her purse, and got ready to get up.

“Thank you, Ms De... Devo...” He frowned at her name on the paper.

“Dvorak. It sounds just like it's spelled. Dvo-rak.”

“Devorak,” he said slowly.

“Yes, that's it.” They both stood up, he helped her put on her coat, and she left.

When she came back again half an hour later, after drinking Andrew's potion, Simms was on the phone with the Auto and Arson Unit of the London C.I.D. He was asking about an explosion that may have happened at a company headquarters a year ago last December. Nobody noticed her.


	15. Chocolate Pudding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Andrew has saved the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a treat at the end. Enjoy! (And feel free to give me feedback if your see anything you want to comment on.)

Xander breathed a deep sigh of relief when they all got back to the hotel. It had been one of the longest days ever. He'd left Maitland's right after Phil dropped him off in their parking lot by the SUV, driven to the copy shop near the hotel to send the scans and data files home, dropped the papers off at his hotel room, and then gone on to meet Kennedy to patrol outside Drew Boyd's home. He got there just before nightfall. Kennedy was waiting for him there with a brand-new pair of mirrored sunglasses. The first thing she'd done was pull his eye-patch off and stick the glasses on.

“I guess they want to talk to me pretty bad, huh?” he'd said.

“Yes,” she'd answered. “That's what you get for being conspicuously heroic. Are these OK? I tried to pick ones that wouldn't block you too much.”

“They'll be OK in the day, but...”

“Alright then, just pull your bangs down over it for now, but for God's sake no more eyepatch while we're in Pittsburgh,” she'd said. He felt a bit naked without it, but he knew she was right.

They'd had a long wait. The party didn't wrap up until about four hours later, and Andrew and Emmett didn't come out for about an hour after that. Meanwhile, there was no sign of vampires. They'd taken turns warming up in the SUV, and patrolling around the neighborhood. When Emmett and Andrew finally came out, Xander and Kennedy could see at a glance the party had gone well; Emmett looked like he was about to perform a victory dance right there in the street, and Xander couldn't remember Andrew ever looking so proud and happy before.

Kennedy's eyebrows arched quizzically. “Party a success?”

“You should have _seen_ him tell that big guy off,” said Andrew.

Kennedy and Xander looked at Emmett.

Emmett looked smug.“I merely reminded him of how a real man should behave.”

“And 'he' would be...?” Xander said.

“Our host. Mr. 'I'm so macho' Boyd.”

“Oh, boy,” Xander sighed, “You do know you already have enemies, don't you?”

“I don't care. Nobody is going to talk about me like that, and I don't give a hoot if he is a VIP,” Emmett tossed his head, “or a customer. Anyway, Andy is the big hero tonight.” He pulled Andrew to his side and tousled his hair. Andrew tried to fend him off, but without much success.

“Oh, no! Don't tell me there was trouble again,” Kennedy said, “Xander, you—” But Emmett wasn't through.

“Oh, yes there was trouble! Andrew saved my life!” Andrew blushed, and looked at his feet. “There I was, not suspecting any problem at all, and then all of a sudden my phone rings, and what do you know, I have no dessert chef! He's in jail! 'Never fear,' he says, 'Andrew's here—'”

“I didn't say it like that.” Andrew's face was flaming crimson.

“Shush, I'm telling this story. Anyway, then he tells me not to worry, and he can make a chocolate pudding to die for—”

“You made chocolate pudding?” Xander asked, and his tummy rumbled loudly. It occurred to him that he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, and that the nausea Andrew's potion had caused earlier had worn off.

“Sorry,” Andrew said, “they ate it all.”

“Oh, I like that!” Kennedy said. “Here we are, out in the freezing dark, watching your back and asking for nothing in return, and what do we get for our devotion to duty? No pudding.”

“What! I make it every other Sunday. You should be tired of it by now.”

“Well, I'm not. I want chocolate pudding, and I want it now.”

“Hey,” Emmett asked, “did you two have dinner?” Kennedy and Xander looked at each other for a moment, and shook their heads. “Why don't we go get some? I know this 24-hour diner—”

Xander shook his head. “That wouldn't be the place your friend the artist works at, would it? The one I had lunch in yesterday just before your other friend was attacked?”

“Err...” said Emmett. “I don't think he's on tonight, but OK, we'll go somewhere else. Oh!”

“What!” said Kennedy.

“I was supposed to go to the cemetery with Debbie after I got back from the gym this morning. We were going to put flowers on her brother's grave. I _completely_ forgot.”

“Well, you have been kind of busy,” said Andrew, “what with getting attacked, and your chef getting arrested and all. Just call her and tell her the truth—”

“But not the whole truth,” said Xander. Emmett looked wistful, but didn't comment. “So, gang, what do you all think we should do about dinner?”

Kennedy said, “I vote we go back to the hotel. Their room service isn't great, but we need telephones and privacy. We need to see what we've all come up with today.”

“Hotel.” Andrew said, “my feet hurt, and I want to shower. I'm all splattered with choc—stuff, and I smell like food cooking.”

“Hotel it is then,” said Xander.

“Don't _I_ get a vote?” asked Emmett.

“Well,” said Kennedy, “what would you like to do?”

“I'd _like_ to go to my favorite bar, have a nice drink, maybe a Cosmo, and forget three-quarters of what happened today.”

“And that's why you don't get a vote,” said Kennedy. “I'm not going to go watch your back in some bar while you get blasted.”

“Who asked you to?”

She drew in her breath to retort.

Xander sighed. “Kennedy, chill. Emmett, I'm sorry to say this, but we don't know enough about the danger you're in. Until we're satisfied you are safe, or that the cops can handle it, you are going to stay with us. And that's the way it is. And just to make protecting you easier as long as you are with us, you're going to stay away from places those guys know where to look for you. That includes your favorite bar.”

“All right,” Emmett said, “I guess I vote for the hotel too. You all do realize I'm just going along with this just to make you all happy.”

“Thank you,” said Xander, without irony, “we appreciate that.”

 

*****************************

 

They ordered sandwiches from room service right after they got to the hotel, and then Andrew and Kennedy went to shower and change. Xander sat in the armchair by the radiator, looking through some papers and warming his feet. His shoes had leaked. Emmett tried to call Debbie at home, but she wasn't there. He tried at the diner, and she wasn't there either, then he tried at Woody's. She was there, and not too happy. She'd gone to Vic's grave alone, which was OK, actually. She'd had a nice talk with him—

“Oh,” said Emmett, “that's... That's nice. That's good.”

“ _Not for real, dummy,_ ” she said. “ _And while I was talking with him, I realized that he would have been so disappointed in me, and I had to start living my own life for real, just like he did. So I went to the station to see Carl, you know, maybe invite him out for lunch—_ ”

“Oh! But...”

“ _And he turned me down. He's seeing somebody named 'Katherine'_.”

“Oh, Debbie, I'm sorry.”

“ _I feel like such an idiot._ ”

“Now listen, that doesn't mean a thing. You two are meant for each other, I swear. All we have to do is come up with some plan to get him to see that, and—”

“ _Whatever. I don't want to think about it now. I want to have a few stiff ones, and go home. Join me?_ ”

“Er...”

“ _I understand,_ ” she said, and sighed heavily. “ _One of us should get lucky tonight._ ”

“Oh, um, that's not exactly...” He was saved by a knock on the door. “I'm sorry Debbie, I've got to go. There's somebody at the door.”

“ _OK, you just be careful, and tell me all about it when you get home._ ”

“You take care too, there are a lot of crazy people out there,” he said, and hung up. “Well,” he thought, “I'm going to have my work cut out for me when I can finally go home.” He frowned at Xander's back as he paid the waiter, and pulled the food cart into the room. He locked the door, put the chain back on, and pulled the cart over to the bed, humming. “Well, you look happy, at least.”

“You bet I'm happy. Here's the food, and I just realized I don't have a headache.”

“Do you get headaches that often? Maybe you should see a doctor about that.”

“I did. He said they'll go away as I adjust to having one eye.” He sighed. “I guess that means I'm almost there.”

“When did it happen?”

“Almost a year ago, but I've been under some stress lately, what with having to drive around so much. This is much better,” he said, and went to tell the others dinner had arrived.

Dinner didn't take long; Kennedy and Xander were half-starved, and Emmett and Andrew were nearly full already from 'testing' food at the party. By mutual agreement, discussion of the all the reports were put off until after dinner. In fact, as far as Emmett was concerned, the morgue reports could wait forever, but obviously _he_ didn't get a vote. He sniffed. Kennedy handed him a napkin, and Xander said something about the mustard being really hot.

Dinner over, they cleared the table and went to get the various reports, files and what-not they had collected during the day. Xander's haul was particularly impressive. He could barely carry all the large rolls of paper he had, even with both arms. He dropped them on one of the beds

“How did you get all that?” Andrew asked.

“Phil.”

“Who?” Andrew asked.

“Remember the guy I told you about? The one from _Cleveland_?”

“Oh? Oh! Um...” For some reason, Xander's forceful reminder of this 'Phil' person's hometown took Andrew completely aback.

Xander smiled. “Actually, it turned out to be a lucky break. We had a nice, long talk. I persuaded him not to beat my face in or call the cops, and he persuaded me that Cleveland is not the best place to plan a happy future.” The smile left his face at that. “Which we all already guessed. Let's just say we came to an understanding. He got me everything they had on Dent too, so we owe him big.”

“Check,” said Emmett, “'no' to making Phil take a dirt nap, 'yes' to giving Phil a fruit basket at Christmas.” They stared at him. “Don't you ever watch The Sopranos?”

“Er, sometimes,” said Xander. “All right, who wants to start?”

“Me,” Kennedy said, “I don't have much, and I'm going to have to go out soon.”

“Do you want us to...” Xander said.

“No, no. I can handle it. I'm good.”

“OK then, What d'ya got for us?”

She plunked her folders on the table “OK, well, first of all, J. Charles Simms seems competent, but he hasn't done much with the case. He's overworked, and he thought it'd been solved already. Well, as much as it was ever going to be. As far as he was concerned, they just couldn't officially close the case because their only suspect had died, and crucial evidence had been destroyed before they realized what was happening. This wasn't Simms' idea, by the way, it was all in the report, which was written up by one of the detectives who was handling the case before he got it. Care to guess who?”

“Bowen?” asked Xander.

“Eeeeeeeeeh!” she screeched.

“Reikert!” said Andrew. Emmett sat up straight at that.

“Dingdingdingdingding. That is correct. He fingered a vagrant who had died in the hospital a month after the murder. Reikert's report says the vagrant, a guy named 'Del Bucket,' can you believe it, confessed to killing somebody by the river. He had a vicious dog that was put down after he'd died. Reikert figured the 'animal' bites on Dent's body would have matched the dog's teeth, but the dog was cremated before they knew to do that. That was the 'destroyed evidence' I mentioned.”

“Wait a minute,” said Emmett, who was becoming fascinated in spite of his dislike of violence and gore. “This morning, you said your friend Willow told you that the autopsy report said they weren't any animal bite they'd ever seen before, right? So it couldn't have been a dog, could it?”

She clapped her hands politely. “Well played, Emmett. That's exactly right, but that's not in Dent's police file or in Reikert's report. And there were other things wrong with the report too.”

“Such as?” asked Xander.

She went on. “OK, so Bowen handled the Dent case for about three weeks, right? Reikert had it after that until he retired, and then a bunch of other cops after _his_ retirement.”

“That's what you told us yesterday,” said Xander.

“Well, how come the only witness statements in there are from the barge workers that found the body, the nursing staff at the hospital, the animal control people and only one of Dent's neighbors?”

“What? What about Mr Porter? He said he talked to Bowen twice. He even gave them a motive,” Andrew said. “Remember? He told them some of Mr Dent's very rare and expensive books were missing when they went to check out the apartment.”

“Nada. There is nothing from Porter, and zero mention of Dent's book collection. And there isn't anything from the guys that installed those shelves just before the murder, either. In fact, it looks as if several important things are missing.”

“Hmm,” said Xander. “Phil told me the cops never showed up out there. He didn't know about what happened to Dent until today,”

“Yeah.” said Kennedy. “It took us one day to find out we needed to go talk to them, and the cops haven't managed to figure that out in two years? Uh-huh.” She snorted.

“Oh, here's another thing, said Xander, “No cops, but about a week after Dent was murdered somebody broke into Maitland's and stole a bunch of stuff, including information about their business dealings with Mr. Dent.”

“Oh, really?” she said. “That's very interesting.”

“What motive does Reikert say the Bucket guy had?” Xander asked.

“Robbery. Seems old Del had a record for assault, battery, and theft. Not a nice guy. Also, violently homophobic, according to his rap sheet. The one neighbor Reikert took a statement from called Dent 'a limey fruit.' It looks to me like any evidence that Bucket may not have killed Dent was,” she held her hands up and made quotation marks with her fingers, “'lost'.”

Andrew looked severe.“So, Bucket was a vagrant? What about the carpet fibers from a car trunk under Dent's fingernails?”

“Also not in the report,” she said.

“And the fact that his body was dumped in the middle of the river? From a _boat_?” Andrew asked.

“That's not in the report either.”

Andrew was looking almost angry. “Well that's just wrong. They're cops. They shouldn't hide evidence.”

“Yeah, but it explains why nobody's gotten back to Porter, doesn't it,” said Xander, “Bowen retires, Reikert fudges the information to make the case look solved, and nobody thinks to question it because anybody who'd care lives in another country, or is dead.”

“Yup,” said Kennedy with ghoulish good cheer, “Here's a question for you guys. When did Reikert take over the case?”

Andrew looked puzzled. “You said before; he took over when Bowen retired.”

“That's 'officially.' Bowen's wife was badly injured by a hit-and-run driver right after he started investigating Dent's murder. Reikert took over the Dent case 'temporarily' while Bowen was staying with her in the hospital, and then 'officially' after she died and Bowen retired.”

Everybody was silent a moment. “So,” said Xander, “It looks like we found one rotten egg in the PPD, anyway.”

Emmett said, “Well if that's all, I might as well have just gone to the cops this morning. Everybody knows Reikert was bad; look at what he did to that boy last year.”

“Yeah,” said Xander, “What about that?” He looked over at Kennedy.

“Well, I want to look over the Kemp autopsy first to make sure it checks out with Horvath's report, but right now it seems to be all pretty much like what we heard from Willow. Eyewitness reports, physical evidence... There doesn't seem to be anything missing. If Carl Horvath's report is to be believed, and I think it is—”

“Of course it is!” snapped Emmett.

She ignored him. “Reikert did indeed murder Jason Kemp, Reikert's old buddy Stockwell covered it up to protect him, and then Reikert killed himself to protect Stockwell.”

“Or _somebody_ killed Reikert to protect Stockwell,” said Xander.

“My goodness, you are paranoid, aren't you?” said Emmett.

“It's only paranoia when they're _not_ out to get you.” said Xander. Emmett noticed he wasn't smiling.

“Wait, is this Stockwell guy is still chief of police?” asked Andrew.

“Well, yeah, kind of,” Kennedy said. “He says he's the victim of a groundless smear campaign, and that the indictment and the Mayor's demand he resign are politics. He's on leave.”

“And he _won't_ be coming back,” said Emmett.

“From your mouth to God's ear,” said Kennedy. “What a tool.”

“Still,” said Xander, “we can't be sure Reikert and Stockwell were the only bad apples in there yet.”

Emmett rolled his eyes and sighed. Somehow he'd figured Xander was going to say that. Oh, well, now that the party for Drew Boyd was over, he could afford to kick back and enjoy the mystery. Well, not 'enjoy' it, really, because of that man's murder, and those men who had tried to kidnap _him_ that morning and the night before. However, he had to admit it was all very interesting. Xander and Andrew weren't too hard on the eyes either.

“That's what I figured,” said Kennedy, “Well, if there are any more of them in there, I may have started something that will smoke them out...”

“Oh?” asked Xander.

“I told Simms about the bomb—”

“What?” Emmett yelped. “There was a bomb? Where? Was anybody hurt?”

“A bunch of people were killed,” she said, “most of Dent's colleagues in London, in fact. Simms said he didn't think a connection was likely, but right after I left, he got on the phone to start checking it out. If Dent was targeted because of his connections, and if the killers are monitoring the cops, it won't be long before they begin looking for 'Antonia Dvorak'. That's me, by the way. I also think it won't be very long before Simms figures out just how badly Reikert bungled the case, and some more interesting stuff may come out of that. I asked Willow to make sure somebody keeps checking on communications in and around the department”

“You people bug phones too?” asked Emmett, scandalized. They looked embarrassed, especially Andrew.

“Well...” said Xander, “I don't think it's really 'bugging.' They're public servants, and we're just trying to help them do their job better. It's not like we're listening to their private conversations.” Now Andrew, who was sitting outside of Xander's limited field of vision, looked more than embarrassed; he looked downright ashamed. Emmett decided that he was going to have to have a long talk with that boy.

“Well,” said Kennedy, “That's really all I have for you guys now, so I guess I'd better go do that thing.”

“OK, thanks,” said Xander.

Andrew started, “Oh! Wait a minute! Before you go? I need to tell you about something that happened at the morgue.”

“OK,” she said, “not liking the sound of this. Did you have some trouble there?”

“Yeah,” said Xander, “how'd it go?”

“Good, mostly” said Andrew, “we didn't need any fancy stuff this time, just walked in with the I.D. cards I borrowed yesterday and some lab coats, and the records clerk handed the reports right over.”

“Their copy machine is awful,” said Emmett.

“True, but we got everything done in about two hours, so that's all OK. It's just... we met this weird lady just as we were leaving.”

“Oh, yes,” said Emmett, “I'd forgotten about her. She was strange. And not in a good way.”

“What happened?” asked Xander.

“Well, she sneaked up on us from behind and told us a bizarre story about a princess and her knight. She was going to kiss Andrew until he waved his cross in her face.”

“That stopped her.” Andrew gave the others a significant look.

“ _Really_ not liking the sound of this.” said Kennedy.

“Don't worry sweetie,” said Emmett, “She's obviously some... eccentric person who'd escaped from her keepers. Somebody's probably thrown a net over her and put her back in her nice home already.”

Andrew just shook his head.

“What did she look like? Can you describe her?” Xander sounded worried.

“She had dark hair,” said Andrew.

“And she was kind of funny-looking,” said Emmett.

“Funny-looking how?” asked Xander.

Emmett shrugged. “Kind of like a cat, I guess. She had these big eyes and a wide mouth and a pointy chin. But better looking than that. And she was really pale and thin; like she never goes outside.”

“How tall was she?”

“Maybe a little shorter than Andrew. She was wearing a black and red dress. Oh, and she wasn't wearing any shoes.” Belatedly, Emmett began to wonder whether they should have at least gotten her something warm to wear. But she hadn't seemed like a street person at the time...

Andrew's voice interrupted his thoughts. “And she said I smelled like 'him,' and that she'd almost caught 'him' once. She said 'he smells like a rainbow in the mountains'.” Emmett thought Andrew did a fairly credible imitation of her voice. Xander looked like it rang a bell with him. Actually he looked like someone had just jabbed him with a dull pin.

“So she had an accent kind of like Spike's?”

“Yeah, or Giles when he's been drinking.”

“Awww... crud.” Xander leaned his forehead into the palm of his hand.

“This is bad, isn't it?” Andrew looked worried.

“Maybe. What story did she tell you?”

As nearly as they could remember Andrew and Emmett repeated the story she'd told them while Xander looked gradually grimmer, nodded, and made 'go on' noises, like it was something familiar to him, until they got to the part where the knight began to long for the light again after the princess's bad daddy gave him the dark boy. Everybody who's ever done it knows that breathing cola out one's nose is very unpleasant; many think it's worse than tea. They paused until his coughing fit stopped and he waved for him to go on, and when they finished he asked Andrew whether any of that sounded familiar.

Andrew said, “it... it's Spike, isn't it? It really happened. She was talking all about him and you, wasn't she?”

“Yup. All metaphorically speaking, of course. Except for the part where he started to want the light again after Angel gave me to him. That didn't happen.”

“Well, it kind of did,” Andrew pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but not because of me. I had nothing to do with it. That was all Buffy. And the chip.”

Andrew just looked thoughtful.

“Wait a minute. Her 'daddy' gave you to Spike?” said Kennedy “Who's 'daddy'?”

“Angel. You met him in L.A.”

Kennedy snorted.

“Never mind 'daddy,' Who is that poor woman? You obviously know her.”

“'Poor woman,' nothing! That's Drusilla.” Emmett had seen Xander look serious, he'd seen him look grim, but he'd never seen him look like this. “She's really bad news. You know that guy your friend Carl is looking for? The Cowboy?”

“Yes?” said Emmett

“Drusilla's worse. Crazy, violent, destructive...” Xander shook his head. “Totally unpredictable.”

“How do you know all this about her?”

“I've seen her in action. Plus, she used to be the girlfriend of this guy we used to work with, until she dumped him. He told me stories... You _don't_ wanna know.”

“She was Spike's girlfriend? Before Buffy?” said Andrew. Emmett thought he looked a little let down.

“Well, this bloodsucker named Harmony was there in between Drusilla and Buffy, but yeah.”

“No problem. I can take her.” said Kennedy.

“She's the reason Faith wound up joining us. You get me?” Xander was totally serious.

“Got you,” she said.

“Don't look in her eyes. She does this hypnosis thing...”

“Guess I know what I'll be doing tonight,” she said. “Not like I wasn't going to be doing that anyway.”

“Why don't you guys just tell the police about her if she's that dangerous?” Emmett asked.

“Tell them what? We don't have anything on her, and if we did they'd never be able to handle her. Listen. This is important. If you see her again do everything you can to stay out of her reach. Don't look at her. Don't let her touch you. If it's daytime try to get out into sunlight; she can't take that, and she hates crosses.”

“What, does she think she's a vampire or something?”

“That is exactly what she thinks she is.”

Emmett rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes she's out of her mind, we know this, but that just makes her more dangerous.” He turned to Andrew and pointed at Emmett. “Did she look interested in him?

“No. Actually she pretty much ignored him. She seemed really into you though.”

Xander scowled in annoyance. “It never ends, does it. Why me? It can't be for my looks.”

“She said you were pretty,” said Emmett prompted by some perverse urge and the expression of hot denial on Andrew's face. Xander looked horrified. Emmett pointed at Andrew. “And she wanted to kiss _you_ , remember?” Andrew looked horrified too.

“Ew! As if!” said Andrew.

Xander took a deep breath. “OK, Drusilla's in town, we deal, and just hope the stars or the pixies or whathtehellever tells her to go away.”

Kennedy shook her head. “OK, then, I'd better get going. Thanks for the warning, you guys.” She pulled on her coat, and went to the door. “Let me know if anything else turns up while I'm gone.

“Listen,” said Xander, “Just a quick 'walk' OK? It's getting pretty late.”

“OK, she said, “I think I'll be back in half an hour or so.” She waved as she went out the door.

“Do you think she'll be OK? Shouldn't somebody go with her?” asked Emmett. Xander and Andrew shook their heads.

“I pity the fool that messes with Kennedy,” said Xander.

“She knows all these martial arts and stuff,” said Andrew.

“I see. Is that what you guys were talking about this morning at the gym?” asked Emmett.

“Yeah,” Xander said. “It's kind of therapy for me losing my eye. They wanted to work on my coordination, and Giles figured this would be a good way to do it.”

“Oh! I've been meaning to ask you about that. Who are Giles and Willow? Are they part of your, er, organization?”

“Oh, yes, said Xander. “Willow is my best friend We've been together since kindergarten, and Giles... He's kind of like... Well, he's a good friend, and... Actually, it's kind of hard to describe Giles.”

“I see,” said Emmett, and he kind of did.”

“OK then!” said Andrew, “can we see what you got from Phil now? I'm dying of curiosity here.

“Oh?” said Xander, “you hide it well.” He smiled teasingly.

Andrew flushed, and smiled back. “Um... he looked at the rolls. “They're too big for this table. Shall we put them on the other bed?”

“That'll work” Emmett said. He pulled the bedspread smooth while Xander picked up one of the larger rolls of paper.

“OK. This is Phil's working drawing for the one of the wardrobe doors. It's 1 to 1 scale. That's why it's so big.” He held the top of the paper down on the bed, and he unrolled it the bottom toward Emmett, who caught hold of it and held it down as he helped unroll it.

“Oh,” Emmett said, “This is that other drawing, only bigger.”

“Yeah, Dent had this made almost 10 years ago, and we think it might have some clues to help us find the thing we're looking for. I don't know where the actual piece of furniture is, but—”

“Ha! I knew it. It _is_ writing.” said Andrew.

It didn't look like any writing Emmett had ever seen. “What, these little lines? They look like those little marks you make to count to five.”

“Tally marks,” Xander murmured.

“Yes, those,” Emmett said

“No,” Andrew lightly touched a group of short lines in the upper right corner. “It's Ogham.”

“Oh yam? What's that?” asked Emmett.

“ _Ogham_. It's an alphabet the Celtic druids used way back.”

“For writing spells?” Asked Xander. His hands jerked away from the paper as if it had suddenly caught on fire, and it rolled up toward Emmett so rapidly it made him jump.

“Hey!” said Emmett.

“Sorry,” said Xander, and reached across the bed to unroll the drawing again.

“No,” said Andrew. “Modern druids might do that, but the ancient ones, they never, ever wrote stuff like that down. I think it was against their religion, or something. Everything important had to be memorized. They used this for boring stuff: records, gravestones, roadsigns, things like that. If you see a spell written in Ogham it's most likely a new age-y thing.”

“So what does it say?” asked Emmett.

“I don't know. Once I figured there wasn't anything I wanted to read in it, I mostly forgot it. I remember this one that looks like a plus sign is an 'a', and this one with the five lines hanging down is an 'n'.”

“Giles will figure it out.” Xander said.

“And so would the bad guys—if they got the wardrobe,” grumped Andrew

“Actually, maybe not, said Xander. “Get this: Phil said that the wood Dent chose for the Ogham inlay was almost exactly the same color and grain as the red oak the wardrobe was made from, and what with the oak being flaky, those little marks were next to impossible to see. Let me show you.” He picked up a pillow and put it down on the drawing to keep it unrolling toward Emmett again, and then picked up a large manila envelope he'd put in the pile of papers on the other bed. He rooted around in it, and pulled out a close-up of part of a door. They looked at it closely. “Well, I can't see anything, can you? he said

“I can't see anything either, so what's the point of doing it at all? Emmett asked.

“Well, Phil told me when he complained about nobody being able to see his work, Dent had said that he was going for a very subtle effect, and that he didn't want people to even notice them, until the two different kinds of wood got older and changed colors. Wood does that, but it can take years.”

“Well, that figures,” said Andrew, “the Ogham is like a blinking neon sign saying 'get your clues here!' if anybody can see it.”

“It does _not_ figure. If it really was a clue, why did he have your friend Phil hide it like that?” Emmett asked.

Xander shrugged. “So the wrong people couldn't see it?”

“Then how would the right people be able to find it?” Emmett asked.

Xander opened his mouth to retort, thought for a second, closed it, and then said. “I don't know. Maybe we'll be able to figure that out once Giles tells us what this says.”

“Well, said Emmett, At least the star design is nice and simple.”

“Actually, said Xander, “That didn't look at all like what you'd expect either.” He pulled another picture out of the envelope. “Phil says it looks good when you see the real thing, but I think it just looks weird. Like it's supposed to be 3-d or something.” He held the photo out so they could see it.

Andrew looked it over. “OK, that's a little strange,” he said, and passed to Emmett.

Emmett glanced at it. “Oh, yes,” he said, “but your friend Phil is absolutely right about how it looks in real life. This picture doesn't begin to do it justice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chocolate Pudding  
> (serves 4 ~ 8, depending on garnishes and what-not.)
> 
> 2 tbsp Cocoa powder  
> 2 tbsp cornstarch  
> ⅔ cups sugar  
> ⅛ tsp salt  
> 1 C (~237 ml) cream  
> 1 egg + 1 egg yolk (or 3 egg yolks for a richer pudding)  
> 2 C (~474 ml) milk  
> 6 oz (~170 g) bittersweet chocolate (melted and cooled slightly)  
> 1 tbsp butter  
> 2 tsp vanilla extract
> 
> Sift the dry ingredients into the top part of a double boiler, or a stainless steel bowl that fits down into a saucepan. You may use a large saucepan instead of a double boiler, but you will have to watch the pudding much more carefully if you do. Slowly whisk in the cream, eggs and milk. Stir in the chocolate—it will be clumpy-looking at first, but as the pudding cooks it will melt again. Put the double boiler or saucepan over medium-high heat and cook, stirring constantly. The pudding will get dark and then thick-looking. If you are using a saucepan, it's a good idea to turn the heat down to medium when the pudding gets dark, but before it's thick in order to avoid scorching it. Keep cooking and stirring until it is thick enough to evenly coat the back of a wooden spoon (about 200 F or 93 C, if you have a cooking thermometer). Strain the pudding through a fine sieve into a medium-sized bowl to remove the stringy pieces of egg that hang off the yolk (if your care about that), and stir in the butter and vanilla. Cover the surface of the pudding with plastic wrap, so that it doesn't dry out on top as it cools, and let it cool 30 minutes before you put it in the refrigerator. The pudding will get thicker as it cools. If you are in a hurry, you can stand the medium bowl of pudding in a large bowl of ice, and stir until cool. Or you can serve it hot.


	16. Night Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kennedy comes back from patrol, and Andrew comes back from shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's a bit more for the next week. Questions, comments and criticism are all welcome!

Kennedy'd had a fairly uneventful patrol after she left the guys to continue looking over the paperwork, although it took her about an hour longer than she'd thought. First she'd checked around the hotel, to make sure they weren't being watched. As far as she could tell, they weren't. After that, she'd gone to the morgue to see if she could find Drusilla. There wasn't a sign of her. Then, lacking any better plan, she'd just wandered around. Willow had a theory that slayers had a sort of unconscious, instinctive attraction to vampires, and that if there were any about a “random walk” could lead a slayer right to them. Kennedy herself was skeptical of the idea, but she didn't have a better one. Maybe it actually worked; she'd run into a grand total of one vampire by doing this. He was a short, lithe, oriental-looking vamp; an obviously newly-sired minion who was hanging around outside a bar ironically named 'Woody's.' He had probably been waiting for a drunk to bite. She'd staked him and decided that her duty was done for the night. It was time to head on back to the hotel. Andrew was nowhere to be seen when Xander, stake in hand, opened the door for her. He grinned at her as she came in, and put the stake back in his pocket.

“Any luck?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Got one,” she said, “not around here. Somebody's going to make it home safely who wasn't before. Where're Emmett and Andrew?”

“Emmett's in the bath. Andrew went to the store up the street to pick him up some stuff.”

“OK. You're looking all bouncy. What did you guys turn up while I was out making Pittsburgh safe from the creatures of the night?”

“Get this! Phil's working drawings _do_ have writing on them, and Andrew recognized it.”

She shrugged off her coat and went to hang it up on the coat-tree. “Coolness.” Xander was still grinning, and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked so cute like that, and wasn't that a strange thing to think? What the hell, Willow thought he was cute; she could think her girlfriend's best friend was cute too. “Can he read it?”

“Not really, but Giles is pretty sure he can. He thinks it's 'one of the Goidelic languages, or possibly Brythonic,' whatever that means.”

“No clue.” She shrugged.

“Me either. He said something about it maybe being Manx.”

“Manx? Isn't that a kind of cat? You know, the ones that don't have tails?”

“That's what I thought.” He looked relieved. “Oh, well. Anyway, Giles is going to go to the CSU library tomorrow to work on the translation. Apparently his Goidelic is rusty.” He thought for a moment. “Which is just one of many things I never thought I'd say in this lifetime.”

“Well that's great. If everything works out OK, we may not even need to find the real wardrobe.”

Xander's grin widened, and he bounced a little more.

“All right, what? Share, already.”

“We already found it! Emmett knew where it was, he just didn't recognize it until he saw Phil's close-ups.” He took a photo out of one of Phil's envelopes, and handed it to her.

She examined it a moment. “OK, I guess I wouldn't have recognized it either.” She turned the paper to see it from different angles. “It looks kind of 3-d.”

“Yeah. Emmett says the real one looks even more 3-d than that. Kind of like if a cut diamond was made out of wood but still clear.” He frowned, shook his head as if trying to imagine this and then grinned. “I can't wait to see what he means.”

She grinned back at Xander. “Well, OK then. Where is it, and how did the find it?”

“It's in the home of one Langston Auerbach,” he glanced at a notepad on the small table, “16 Melton Street. It's in a den in the basement.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Yeah. And how he found it was like this: last week he catered Auerbach's niece's wedding reception, right? Yesterday, while he was getting ready for the Boyd party, he found out that one of his chafing dishes was missing. The last time he remembered using it was at the wedding reception, so he went back to see if he could find it. It wasn't in the kitchen, it wasn't in the pantry, and so Auerbach's housekeeper told him to go look for it in the storage room in the basement. But she has bad knees, so she sent him downstairs by himself. Now this is one huge old house, you see, and the basement is almost like a maze down there. Of course he got lost, walked into a den, or something like that, and there it was.” He thought for a moment. “The wardrobe, I mean, not the chafing dish.”

“Great! That saves us a lot of work.” She felt like bouncing herself.

Xander grinned for a moment longer, and then turned serious. “And maybe it explains something else. Get this: Emmett also said that when he came out of the den he ran straight into Mr Auerbach and a friend of his, and they were not happy to see him there. Emmett thought it was because they thought he was 'snooping,' but that same evening...” He trailed off.

“A vampire tries to kidnap him.”

“Uh-huh. And the next morning...”

“The same thing happens again.”

“Yup. I don't think that penny's dropped for Emmett yet. He strikes me as a pretty trusting guy.” He hesitated. “And I'm not sure just how much we should tell him. I mean, once we get started, where do we stop? 'Hey Emmett, magic exists and vampires are out to get you. And I don't mean some kind of general 'you,' I mean you personally. And guess what? They're in cahoots with that rich guy that's got the wardrobe we're after.' And _then_ he says 'see ya later' and runs straight into the arms of the first vamp to come along.”

Kennedy remembered what she'd often been told about getting 'civilians' involved. “'It's what they know isn't so that gets them killed.' My old watcher used to say that. He always figured it was better to just stick to keeping them safe, and let them work that stuff out for themselves. So, what's the plan? Do we go knock on this Auerbach's door tomorrow?” She frowned. “I'm ready, but we'd better leave Emmett here with Andrew.”

“I don't know, the thing is—”

The sudden sound of someone pounding on the door made them both jump. Xander grabbed his stake and looked through the peep-hole in the door. “It's Andrew,” he said and opened it a crack. Andrew scuttled in sideways, like a panicked crab. He was holding a white plastic bag in his left hand.

“Shut it, shut it!” he hissed. Xander poked his head out, looked up and down the hall, pulled himself back in, and locked the door.

“Nobody there,” he said.

“Was somebody following you?” Kennedy asked.

“Yeah, there was a guy in the drugstore.”

“Reflection?”

“He had one, but I didn't like the way he was looking at me.”

“What did he look like?”

“He was kind of big, short brown hair, 'bout our age... He looked like he was really mad about something.” Andrew shuddered theatrically. “Then he followed me when I went out of the store! Ha! Little did he know that he was stalking one who has matched wits against the armies of the undead!”

Kennedy pursed her lips and crossed her arms, her right fingers drumming impatiently on the crook of her left elbow as she felt the old, familiar urge to smack them across the top of his head.

He glanced at her and hastily went on. “Anyway, I think I lost him, but I wasn't sure.”

Xander looked worried. “Any idea why he tried to follow you?” he asked.

“No! I just kind of got a 'crazy' vibe off him and I definitely did not want to stick around to find out what he wanted. I think he might have had a gun.”

“Not a vampire, though...” said Kennedy. Andrew shook his head.

Xander said, “Doesn't have to be. Humans can be just as dangerous.”

“Yeah,” said Kennedy. “Andrew, tell us if you see him again, OK?”

He nodded eagerly, and then looked around. “Is Emmett _still_ in the shower?”

“Bath.” Xander shook his head. “He said he needed to relax—" The sound of the bathroom door opening cut him off.

“But I'm all done now,” said Emmett. He sauntered out, swathed in one of the larger towels; pink, scrubbed, surrounded by clouds of scented steam, looking completely pleased to be alive. “This hotel has huge tubs! And bubble bath! Did you know they had that? I'm going to have to stay here again. Is that for me?” He held his hand out to Andrew, who passed the bag over. “Briefs, toothpaste, toothbrush.... Oh! Thank you.” He ducked back into the bathroom again, to come out a moment later clad in blue flannel pajamas.

“You're welcome,” said Andrew, wincing. “They were the only ones your size.”

“Oh, don't worry. I love Spongebob.” He sat down on Xander's bed.

“Did they have any more like that?” Xander asked wistfully.

Andrew shook his head “No, and that's when I saw Crazy Guy looking at me, so I didn't wait to ask.”

“Crazy Guy?” asked Emmett.

“Just some guy that maybe was stalking Andrew,” said Kennedy, “Don't worry, he lost him. We'll probably never see him.”

“Oh, all right then.”Emmett looked concerned, but he changed the topic. “Did they tell you what happened after you went for your walk?”

“I think so.” She looked over at Xander, who nodded.

“So what do you think?” Emmett asked.

“About?” she asked.

“Going to see Mr. Auerbach tomorrow. I thought you told her everything,” he said to Xander.

“Oh, sorry, I was just getting to that part,” said Xander. “Why don't you tell it?”

“OK, well, the thing is...” Emmett, looking uncharacteristically nervous, turned to Kennedy. “Mr. Auerbach is from one of the oldest families in Allegheny County, and if we just knock on his door and accuse him of stealing from a murdered man—now I'm not saying we shouldn't—it's just that if we do...”

“Don't worry,” said Xander, “ I thought it over, and I agree with you.” He went to Andrew's bed and sat down. Andrew sat next to him, looking off into space, thinking.

“You do?” asked Emmett.

“Absolutely.” Xander nodded firmly.

“Agree with Emmett about what?” Kennedy asked. Obviously she'd missed more than the revelations about the writing, the wardrobe and Xander's angst.

“I _was_ thinking we should go talk to him tomorrow,” said Xander.

“Hey, I said I was ready,” she said, and lightly tapped her fists together like a boxer about to come out swinging.

Xander went on, “But on second thought, it's not such a good idea. Not yet, anyway.” Out of the corner of her eye she could see Emmett tense up, and then relax again.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Well, according to Emmett, he has a lot of pull around here...” He gave her a significant look

“So?” she said.

“And it's just not a good idea to make an enemy of someone like that without stand-up-in-court evidence,” said Xander. “The kind the _police_ can't ignore.”

“Oooh,” she said, as she got what Xander was hinting at. Was Andrew smirking at her?

Emmett looked down at his hands clenched together in front of him. “Especially if you own a small business that's just getting off the ground,” he added softly.

“That has nothing to do with it,” Xander said.

“It has everything to do with it—”

“Not for us.” Xander said. “Look, I appreciate that you're trying to keep your business afloat, and that's why you're reluctant to get into this thing with Auerbach. I also know that you're not the kind of guy who can stop himself from doing the right thing for very long—”

“Aw, shucks,” said Emmett sarcastically. “You're embarrassing me.”

“No, it's true. I see you; I know what kind of a person you are. You'll stay away from Auerbach until your conscience gets the better of you, and then you'll go confront him, man-to-man.”

Andrew nodded vigorously.

“And then he'll destroy you, if you piss him off enough. Well, it's not necessary, and it's definitely not a good idea.”

“Well, I think you're wrong about me, I mean,” said Emmett, “I just want to forget it all happened.”

“Yeah, that's what we all want, but you won't do that, will you. So let me tell you right now what we're going to do: We're going to keep on learning all we can without making waves, and if Auerbach had any part in Dent's murder, we will find out, and then we will nail him for it, and 'we,' my friend, includes you.” Xander sat down on the other side of the bed, and looked him in the face. “Now, see, if you just wanted to save your own skin, that would scare you to death, wouldn't it?”

“I am scared,” said Emmett.

“Bullshit. I know from scared. You're just a little nervous. You'll be fine,” said Xander.

“So what are you proposing we do now?” Emmett asked. They all looked at Xander.

“OK, I've been thinking about that. That wardrobe used to belong to Dent, right?” he said. “Now we're just assuming his murderers took it. That may not have been what happened. He could have given it away, he could have sold it—”

“That's right!” said Emmett, cheering up at the thought. “Mr Auerbach may have a completely legal reason to have that wardrobe.” Kennedy didn't think so, and it must have showed on her expression to judge by Andrew's and Xander's faces. Emmett didn't notice. Still, if it kept Emmett away from confronting Auerbach, this was a good thing.

Kennedy decided to muddy the waters further. “And if Mr. Dent had any debts, it may have been sold to cover them too. How are we going to find out?”

They were all silent a moment. “Well, the police don't have any idea,” said Xander.

“Right,” Kennedy said.

Andrew said, “We haven't heard anything about Dent's family yet, so we can't ask them.”

“I guess we could ask Mr. Porter...” said Xander.

“If we do that he might think we're investigating the murder,” said Andrew.

“You _are_ investigating the murder,” said Emmett.

“Yeah,” said Kennedy, “but we don't want him to know that.”

“Why n... You know what? Never mind,” he said and leaned back against the headboard with his arms folded and a distinct pout on his face.

“Ummm... OK,” said Xander, “how about this: his family hadn't heard what happened to him. They want to know about his debts and his possessions. They want to know if his estate owes anybody, and if they can arrange to have anything left of his shipped home. They probably will, you know. I'll tell Giles to ask them to play along when he finds them. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” said Kennedy, “and they want to know about any friends of his over here they can talk to about him.”

Xander looked thoughtful. “Maybe... we may get some more information that way. I'd better see Porter first thing tomorrow, and I want to go to the Bureau of Building Inspection, and get the plans to Dent's apartment and the building.”

“Why?” Kennedy asked.

He shrugged. “Just want to rule out any hiding places in the apartment, or in the building. If we find a cubby hole Dent could have hidden his books in—”

“Books!” said Emmett. “This is all about those books?”

“Way to go, 'Boss',” Kennedy said and clapped her hands three times, slowly. Andrew scowled at her, but Xander looked sheepish.

“OK, you got us. That's what we're after. Dent had some books that belong to our organization, and we want them back.”

“Why did _he_ have the books?” asked Emmett.

“To help him do his job,” said Xander. He held up his hand. “And _that's_ all I'm saying. The rest of it is really none of your business.”

“OK,” Emmett said, but Kennedy could tell his mind was busily working on this new riddle. He might be a little naive but he wasn't dim. Given the right clues, he had a very good chance of putting two and two together, even if 'four' wasn't a possible answer in most people's math. Well, if her old watcher was right, then that would be the time to come clean.

In the end, they decided that the next day, after 'therapy' and breakfast, Xander would go see Mr. Porter by himself. Meanwhile, Kennedy and Andrew would go with Emmett to collect his check from Drew Boyd. Then the three of them would go pick up some changes of clothes, as none of them had packed for this long a stay. Kennedy only made a short call to Willow to wish her goodnight before she went to bed; it felt funny to talk to her girlfriend with Emmett trying to sleep in the other bed in her room.

It was an uneventful night, except for Andrew's waking them up at around two or three in the morning with one of his screaming nightmares. Kennedy wished, like she always did when this happened, that Xander would just go sleep in Andrew's bed already. It would save everybody a lot of lost REMs.


	17. Lazy Saturday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emmett learns how to fall down before breakfast time.

Emmett was very warm in his soft, new pajamas when he woke up—was woken up—the next morning. He opened his eyes to see Kennedy standing between their beds. She was shaking him gently by his shoulder.

“Gnerft?”

'That didn't come out right,' he thought muzzily.

“Good morning, Mr Honeycutt.” She smiled at him with brightly simulated good cheer. “This is your wake-up call. Did you sleep well?”

“Whozzah?” asked Emmett. “Yeah, after all the yelling stopped. What _was_ that?”

“Andrew. He has nightmares sometimes,” she said, the smile slipping from her face. “Well?”

“OK, I guess so. I'm up, I'm up,” he sighed.

She watched as he pushed the bedclothes down, stretched, and began the arduous crawl out of bed. The darkness behind the curtains told him that the sun hadn't come up yet. He glanced at the clock in the bedside console; it was five-thirty. Sunrise was at least an hour away.

“Good.” She went into the other room, reached over, and shook Andrew's shoulder. “C'mon you. Time to get up 'n' train.” Emmett could see Xander's bed was already empty and there was a light shining out from under their bathroom door.

“Noo. Don' wannaaa,” Andrew wailed, and curled tightly around his pillow.

“Up, up, up! You know you gotta.” She shook him again, a little harder.

He sighed, uncoiled himself from his pillow and swung himself out of the bed. Emmett could see that he'd gone to sleep wearing the T-shirt and briefs of the night before. All he had to do to dress was pull on the pants and socks he'd worn yesterday.

“Who's going to watch Emmett?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Whew, go brush your teeth.” She looked over at Emmett speculatively. “You are coming to the gym with us, right?”

And what was that? That objection she'd had to going to Woody's the night before because it was one of his usual hangouts, and so a likely place for his stalkers to try to grab him?

“I don't know,” he said sarcastically, “Don't you think it'll be dangerous? It's not like I don't go there _every day_ , after all. What if,” he put his hand over his heart and gasped theatrically, “those awful men come after me there?”

She smirked in an obnoxious know-it-all way. “Will you be safe in a gym with bright lights; great, big mirrors and at least two people watching your back at all times? Gee, let me think...”

He scowled at her.

“Right. Get dressed. Xander has some clean gym clothes you can borrow.”

They left ten minutes later, after eating some crackers and drinking some orange juice.

He didn't think this was going to be like one of his usual workouts; he could tell Andrew hadn't called her a drill sergeant for nothing, and the word 'therapy' had an ominous feel to it. So did that huge canvas bag of 'exercise equipment' she carried to the gym from the SUV. Later he wished he'd tried harder to stay in bed. Stretching, running and lifting weights were fine. In fact, it was nice to have somebody to spot him again. He hadn't had that since he had to start working out early in the day; none of his usual exercise partners were what you could exactly call morning people. The idea of Brian, for instance, getting up before sunrise after a night of dissipation at Babylon… It was to laugh. If Brian was ever awake at this time of day, it was because he hadn't gone to bed yet. So, all in all, he had a pretty good workout. Emmett decided that Kennedy would make a great personal trainer if she ever got tired of doing whatever it was she did now.

And then, about the time he'd normally head to the showers, she declared that warm-up was over, and it was time to get down to work (or 'therapy,' in Xander's case, Emmett supposed). Xander and Andrew grabbed opposite corners of the bag of equipment and hauled it between them as they all followed her down to an unoccupied aerobics classroom.

'Work' didn't mean lifting more weights or spinning. 'Work' meant self-defense training. After she had the three men put on the helmets and padding that were in the bag, she sent Xander and Andrew to the other end of the room to hit each other with long sticks.

Emmett was lucky; his self-defense training for the day was 'learning to fall.' He'd thought he already knew how to fall. He was wrong. She played knock-me-down-clown with him for about half an hour in front of the mirror-covered wall, and then she called Xander over to demonstrate some more holds and falls. That was what finally made him realize that he also pitied the fool that started something with Kennedy. Xander was no lightweight, but she slammed him around like he had barely more strength or heft than a rag doll. And somehow they were even more terrifying to watch after Andy said she was holding back so as not to break any of his bones. Emmett thanked God she had to shower in the women's room.

At least showering was nice. Really nice. Especially the scenery. Emmett was rather let down when they were done and it was time to go get dressed again, but at least this time he could ask about the bruises on Xander's wrists and chest. They were even darker and nastier-looking than they'd been the morning before.

“Did you get those from 'therapy'?” he asked, as Xander was zipping his jeans.

He looked down, puzzled, as if the marks were something from a long time ago; something he'd forgotten.

“Ah, no, that was Lyle. How are _you_ doing?”

“I'm sore. I'm going to be sorer. Are we going to have to do this again tomorrow?”

Xander shook his head. “Oh, no, not on Sunday. I am putting my foot down; there should be at least one day a week when we don't get put through the wringer and Sunday is it.” He yanked his long-sleeved Henley shirt down over his head decisively.

“Yay.” Emmett sincerely hoped that these people would either find out who was after him, or let him go to the police by Monday. After careful consideration, he'd decided that romantic as it sounded, being forced to undergo martial arts training by this earnest bunch of do-gooders was not what he wanted to do for the rest of his life, thanks. It also bothered him that they seemed to think it was so necessary. That didn't imply anything good.

Xander went on as he pulled on his shoes and socks, “Besides, Giles never makes me do therapy on Sunday. He says the body needs the rest to repair itself.”

They went to meet Kennedy at the front door after they finished dressing. Emmett had a moment of _deja vu_ when she asked “Where do you want to go for breakfast today?”

“Well,” said Emmett, “I know this really good diner just down the street and around the corner...”

“Are you serious?” asked Andrew. “They almost got you there yesterday.”

“But now I have three bodyguards,” he said, and batted his eyelashes at them. “Besides, if I hadn't been following you guys, I wouldn't have even been there.”

“OK.” Xander shrugged. “As long as nobody who knows us is going to be there, it's fine with me. Need coffee. That place any good? We didn't actually get to order last time.”

“I like the Liberty Street Diner better,” said Emmett.

“No,” Xander said.

Emmett hadn't noticed before how undamaged, cold and dangerous those sunglasses he was wearing today made him look. He wished Xander was still wearing the eyepatch, and wondered why he'd changed. He sighed, and shrugged. “Jimmy's is OK, I guess. I don't go there much, so I can't really tell you what's good.”

“You don't, huh?” asked Xander. “Then we're definitely going there.”

Half an hour later they were sitting in one of the diner's booths, waiting for their orders and drinking coffee—except for Kennedy, who had just ordered hot water. She pulled a baggie of dried leaves out of the inside pocket of her coat, crumbled a pinch of them between her fingers and dropped them into her steaming mug. An agreeable scent rose into the air; one that evoked apple pie on a crisp fall day and apple blossoms on a rainy night in spring. They all breathed deeply.

“What is that?” asked Emmett. “It smells wonderful.”

“It's a special tea my girlfriend makes for me.” She sipped a bit.

“Can I try some?” asked Emmett.

She shrugged and passed the cup to him. “Don't be too disappointed. It's doesn't taste nearly as good as it smells.”

He sipped a bit. “No, but it's still good.”

“I like it with honey,” Andrew said, “but it doesn't have any caffeine in it.”

“Gotta have that caffeine,” added Xander, and slurped his heavily sugared coffee. He'd taken off his sunglasses to see better in the dark booth, to Emmett's relief, and had pulled his bangs down over his ruined eye.

“So, your girlfriend,” asked Emmett, “what does she do?”

“Anything she wants to,” said Kennedy. “Willow is a goddess.”

Emmett thought that was a rather an outrageous statement, but to judge by Andrew's reaction, not far from the truth. Xander just smiled fondly. His smile was a thing of heart-breaking beauty. Emmett had to shake himself back to reality; he wasn't usually inclined to be so poetic. He gave Kennedy back her cup of tea.

“So, in your organization, is she the boss?” asked Emmett.

The three of them looked at each other.

I mean, if this were a James Bond Movie, would she be M?”

“Nnnooo,” said Andrew. “She'd be more like Q, I guess.”

Kennedy nodded dubiously, thought for a moment, and then with more certainty.

“Right,” said Xander “Giles is 'M' and I'm Moneypenny.”

“Moneypenny?” asked Emmett. He would have at pegged Xander as a Double-Oh Seven. Double-oh Something, at the least.

“No!” Andrew shook his head firmly. “You should be another agent. Felix Leiter, maybe.”

Xander thought about it for a moment and shook his head. “No, _you_ can be Felix. I'm Moneypenny. She's not glamorous, but she keeps things running. I guess Buffy's Double-Oh Seven, right?”

“Right,” said Andrew.”

“Who am I?” Kennedy sneered, with more than a hint of bitterness in her tone. “Never mind. I'm a spare agent, right?”

“No,” said Xander. “You're... You're Lara Croft!”

“She's not even _in_ the Bond movies,” Kennedy said, looking even more annoyed.

“No. She's her own star. But nothing says she can't visit sometimes. Often, even. They're in the same country, after all, and they'd be on the same side.”

“OK.” She looked into her tea and then smiled. “OK.”

They were all silent a moment until Emmett asked, “So, do you think they've found out anything else from the paperwork you sent them yesterday, your friends?”

“Well, I guess I'd better find out.” Kennedy got up. “I'll go call and see what the crew's come up with. I want to know if anybody's looking for 'Antonia Dvorak' yet, anyway. The wires may have picked up something by now.”

“Does this 'Willow' have anything resembling a life? With all the stuff you guys've been dumping on her the last couple of days she's got to be working on it 24/7,” Emmett asked.

“Good point,” said Xander, “Don't forget to ask whether she's gotten the others to help her out. They need to learn how to do research too.”

“Others? There's more of you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Xander said, and then snapped his fingers. “Robin! They should put him on the financial stuff, if they haven't already.”

“I'm on it, 'Boss'.” Kennedy flipped her right hand up in a casual wave and headed to the door.

“Let me guess,” said Emmett, “'Robin' is 'R'?”

“Oooh John Cleese; he is 'teh funneh'.” Andrew said with profound satisfaction. Then he leaned forward; fixing Emmett with a look uncannily like the ancient mariner that stoppeth one of three. “Who do you think was the best Bond?”

“Um...” said Emmett, nonplussed.

Hold that thought,” Xander smiled up at the waitress heading their way. “Here's our food.”

They had gotten halfway through their breakfasts when Kennedy came back, looking pinched and discontented. “They took care of that thing.”

“The wiretaps? Already?” asked Emmett.

“No. The other thing. Oh, yeah, the wiretaps. Nobody's looking for me yet.”

“That's good.” Xander said.

She scowled at him.

“That _is_ good, right?”

“Faith had to get stitches. Willow took her to the hospital.”

“Oh? Umm....” Xander looked at his plate, poking thoughtfully at his omelet.

“They're fine. I should have been there.”

Xander hesitated a moment and looked up at her. “It's nothing to worry about, then?”

“Do you think I'm worried?” She glared at him. “Faith should be the one babysitting you all, not me.”

“You were the one we needed.”

“Why me? She has five years more experience than I do, doesn't she? Or don't you trust her?”

“Of course I trust her, but... She doesn't remember what its like... I… She's not as good at training as you are.”

“Is that why Giles picked me? 'Cause I was pretty sure it was to get some peace and quiet.”

Emmett looked at Andrew pretending to be fascinated by his hash browns and back to Xander wishing he could do the same. “Who's Faith?” he asked.

“Oh, she's one of us.” Xander bit off a quarter of his slice of toast and jam and began to chew it.

“Is she a dyke too?” Emmett asked, thinking that perhaps he had an idea what Kennedy's problem was. Jammy toast crumbs sprayed over the table. “Ew, gross,” he protested, “didn't your mama teach you to eat with your mouth _shut_?”

Xander, his mouth still half-full of toast and jam, was unable to speak. He glared at Emmett and began to chew vigorously on the rest of his mouthful.

“No,” Kennedy bit off.

“Then what are you worried about, Sweetie? It's not like she's going to put the moves on your girlfriend, right?”

“No, I guess not.” She looked at him as if the idea hadn't even remotely occurred to her.

“Hey!” Xander had finally managed to choke down the rest of the toast. “Don't call my friends 'dykes'!”

“But Xander,” said Kennedy sweetly, “we _are_ dykes.”

“Fine, great, wonderful,” he said to her, and then turned to Emmett. “Look. How would you like it if I called you a 'faggot'?”

Emmett blinked at him. “I am a faggot.”

Xander was stymied for a moment, then with real curiosity he asked, “So, does it bother you, being called that?”

Emmett shrugged. “Depends.”

“On?” Xander asked.

“The situation,” said Emmett.

Xander knit his brows for a moment, and then looked at Kennedy. “Can he call you that?”

“I am not a faggot, I am a dyke,” she said, sounding oddly like a prim schoolmarm.

“I now understand homophobes,” Xander shook his head morosely. “They want to get rid of you all just to avoid all this social complexity.”

Kennedy smirked. “Are you saying they're 'simple'?”

“Yes. No. No, wait. Yes." Xander blinked. “...What was the question?”

Kennedy whooped, Emmett snickered, and Andrew smiled at his plate.

No, I mean... I think I'll just stick with whatever's PC. 'Gay's OK to say, right? How about lesbian? Can I say that?”

“But Xaaaander,” Kennedy whined, “I want you to call me and Willow 'dykes' too.”

“Ugh! Don't talk like that,” he said. “You sound like Spike used to when he was trying to bug me.”

Emmett had heard that name before, and there was something he'd forgotten to ask. “Is that the Spike who was that Drusilla's boyfriend?”

“Yes,” said Xander.

“Did he turn out to be gay too?” Emmett asked.

Xander snorted derisively. “I only wish. It would have made things so much less complicated if he had. Why do you ask?”

“She seemed to think he had a thing for you.”

Xander blinked. “And on second thought it wouldn't have helped at all.”

Kennedy smiled dreamily. “You guys would have been so hot together...”

Andrew blushed a deep, deep pink. To guess by his expression, Emmett rather thought this idea had occurred to him before. Probably several times before, like maybe when he was taking a shower, or was alone in his bed…

Xander, however, wasn't having any. “Hey! If I wanted to... to date guys, I would... I'd... I wouldn't date evil guys, anyway. What do you care? You're gay. Lesbian. Whatever.”

“I'm gay, not blind,” she said.

“What about after he stopped being bad?” Andrew asked softly.

Xander considered this for a moment. “I don't think so. He knocked me out with a microscope and kidnapped me once, and then there was that whole... And the time... Never mind. The point is some things you just don't get over.

“He kidnapped you? For real, he knocked you out and kidnapped you?” Emmett stared at him. “Am I sick, or does that sound kind of romantic?”

Mute horror warred with utter disbelief on Xander's face for about ten heartbeats. “No. Not. And never, ever, say 'Spike' and 'romantic' to me in the same breath ever again if you value my sanity.”

Kennedy held her hand to her face to hide a smile, her good mood fully restored, and then her expression went blank. “Oh, Xander? Willow wanted me to tell you that Langston Auerbach went to UC Sunnydale about thirty years ago. She said to tell you he pledged Delta Zeta Kappa, and that his wife died unexpectedly about seven years ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The guys from Delta Zeta Kappa used to really get around...
> 
> So that's the update for this week. Questions, comments, and corrections are cheerfully welcome!


	18. A Little Higher, a Little Deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which even well-meant lectures are annoying.

Andrew and Kennedy had both wanted to go in with Emmett when he collected his check from Drew Boyd, but he'd over-ruled them. He'd told them it was his business, and that he just didn't feel comfortable dragging them in uninvited by his customer. Andrew guessed that Emmett was already embarrassed at being chaperoned by a couple of babysitters and that he didn't want Mr. Boyd to think he was a scaredy-cat. To be honest, Drew Boyd had struck Andrew as an insensitive jerk, but not thuggish. Probably nothing would happen, and anyway Emmett had promised to scream long and hard if Boyd even hinted at turning violent. Kennedy had allowed herself to be persuaded to stay behind too. At first.

"This should only take a few minutes,” Emmett had said. “Well, twenty or thirty if he has any complaints. I don't think he will though. Andy's chocolate pudding has charms to soothe the savage beast.”

"Isn't that 'savage breast'?” Andrew had asked.

"Not for me, it isn't,” Emmett had said, and hopped out.

They'd seen him waiting at the door after ringing the bell, and then it'd opened and he'd gone in. After ten minutes, Kennedy had decided to go in after him anyway, and it had taken five more for her to overcome Andrew's objections. She'd made him move to the driver's seat and told him to be ready to go in a hurry.

Now he was waiting, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, and watching Drew Boyd's front door. The three of them had taken the SUV that morning because, as Kennedy had reminded them, “We're going shopping after Emmett gets paid, and I am not going to carry all the crap we buy while we're out. I am not you guys's little pony.” The way she had just announced who would be taking the SUV that day had annoyed Andrew, but Xander had merely said it was a good idea, and that Mr Porter's office and the Bureau of Building Inspections were plenty close enough for him to walk to anyway. He'd actually seemed relieved. Andrew thought he'd probably been nervous about driving on the slushy streets again. Ever since he'd lost his eye, even driving under good conditions bothered him. Sometimes Andrew daydreamed about Xander telling him that he was his other eye. It would be after a huge battle with an army of demons. He'd get seriously wounded after saving Xander from certain death by a demon attacking his blind side. Xander would come to him while he was lying in bed. Tears running down his face, and he'd take Andrew's hand and say—

"Open the doors, dipstick!”

Andrew flinched as Kennedy banged on the hood again for emphasis. He hurriedly flipped the master lock up, and she and Emmett piled in the front and back passenger's seats.

“Drive!” she snapped.

He stepped on the accelerator as they fumbled at their seats belts.

"What happened?” he asked, once he caught his breath back, and they were on the road. “Did he try to hurt you?” he asked Emmett.

"I can't believe this!” said Kennedy. She turned to the back seat, where Emmett was sitting. “What the hell were you thinking? The man just got engaged, for Pete's sake!”

"Hey, it wasn't my idea,” said Emmett, and spread his hands wide in a shrug. “He just tackled me. I can't help it if I'm irresistible.”

"Here's a little word called 'No!' How about using it!”

"Are you kidding? I didn't have time. And anyway, how often am I going to get that lucky? That was the sexiest guy who ever made a pass at me in my entire _life_.”

She reached into the back seat and 'thwapped' her fingertips sharply against his forehead, “Hey! Upid-stay! What part of 'engaged' did you not understand? He's getting married! He's a pro football player and he's getting married to a _woman_. Think, man! Do you see marching down the street in the gay pride parade together even remotely in your future?”

Emmett pouted. “Well, sometimes men just want to fuck. And anyway, it doesn't really matter, does it? He's never going to speak to me again after what you did.”

"After what _I_ did? He tried to molest you,” she said, the volume of her indignant voice neared rock-concert levels. Right in Andrew's ear, too.

But Emmett could be pretty loud himself. “And I was enjoying it! Now you've broken his tree, and you got dirt all over the floor.”

"Good! It serves him right for cheating on his fiancee. And that fugly carpet! What was that, anyway, Burberry Plaid? If you had to choose a closeted homo to bump uglies with, did you have to pick one with such lousy taste?”

Emmett sulked all the way to the shopping mall. At least it was quiet again.

****************************

Xander took off the sunglasses and put his eyepatch back on right after he entered the building where Mr. Porter's office was. He'd thought it over, and decided that while it was better not to wear the eyepatch in public, Mr. Porter might wonder why he had changed. It had also occurred to him that dark sunglasses could be nearly as off-putting in a conversation as an empty eye socket. Mr. Porter was waiting for him; by the time Xander reached the office door, it was already open, and he was standing there beckoning.

"Hello again, Mr. Harris,” he said. “Right on time.”

Xander winced, but didn't correct him. He had the feeling Mr. Porter wasn't a first-name-basis kind of guy. “Thank you for agreeing to see me again on such short notice.”

"No, no, not at all. Are you and your friends having a good stay here in Pittsburgh? Horrible weather we're having.”

He gestured invitingly at the burgundy leather armchair in front of his desk. After sitting in his own chair, opposite Xander's, he reached down into a drawer to pick up a thermos he had been keeping in there. There were two coffee cups on the desk; he filled one with coffee, and looked at Xander with raised eyebrows.

“Won't you join me in a cup? It's very good; the beans are from Yemen. I have an old friend from there, and he sends me some around Eid every year.”

"Oh, uh, yes, thank you.” said Xander.

"Don't mention it,” He filled Xander's cup with the rich, aromatic brew, and offered him milk and sugar. After their coffee was ready, and they had drunk a few sips, he was ready to get down to business. “So, have you been able to find out whether Mr. Dent's family had been notified?”

"Ah, well,” Xander hesitated a moment, and took the plunge. “No, they hadn't.”

Mr. Porter pursed his lips. “Well. All I can say is that I'm very disappointed in Detective Bowen.”

Xander felt compelled to protect the dead man's reputation; it didn't seem fair not to. “I don't think it was really his fault. We learned from the police that his wife was in a fatal accident right after he started working on the case. He retired right after she died, and someone else took over. I think he must have been nearly out of his mind... I know I would have been.”

"Oh. That is a pity,” he said, looking a little distressed. “Still couldn't he have...”

"And then he passed away after he retired,” Xander said.

"I see. That's too bad.”

"Yes, the detective who replaced him seemed not to have had all the information he needed. I think he may have assumed that Bowen notified Mr. Dent's family, while Bowen assumed that he would do it.” Actually, thought Xander, if Reikert was as dirty they thought, he probably told Bowen he'd take care of it, and then done nothing—that was if Dent's family hadn't really been notified after all.

"Well, what did he say when you spoke to him?”

"Um, unfortunately he also died last year, after _he_ retired.”

Porter shook his head sadly, but with the expression of a man whose pet theory had been confirmed yet again. “They both retired and then they both died. It just shows you, doesn't it?” The unmistakable sound of a soap-box rant was tingeing his voice.

"Sir?”

He leaned forward in his chair, placing his left hand on his desk palm-down and waving his right index finger emphatically at the ceiling, like a preacher denouncing sin. “Retiring is a foolish, foolish thing to do. We are not made to sit around collecting dust, and take it from one who knows—I had a taste of it myself a couple years ago and I didn't like it at all. Now, my father was a millionaire. Self-made—well, with Mother's help, of course. They got started in dry-cleaning after the war and they owned half the laundries in the city by the time he passed on. Do you know why?”

Xander blinked. “No, sir.”

"He never retired, that's why. He used to say, 'Retirement is sitting around being no use to anybody while your kids wait for you to die.' Once he told me that if they ever got tired of the laundry business and sold it, they'd go find other work they'd enjoy doing.”

Mr. Porter was getting well wound up in his lecture now. Xander could tell it was one he gave frequently; probably to all his younger relatives and acquaintances. "It sounds like your father was a wise man,” he said, hoping to head off the rest of the speech.

It didn't work.

“Oh yes, he was. Now, don't get me wrong here; he wasn't all work, work, work; he knew how to relax and enjoy life too. Dad had a great deal of common sense, which is not always true for wealthy people. For instance, another thing he always told my sister and me was that we could forget about inheriting any money from him. He said, 'Mother and I are going to spend all our money while all of us can enjoy it together.' Camping, concerts, trips... The four of us used to have a wonderful time together...” He sighed nostalgically. “The only promise they made us kids was that there'd be enough left to bury them when they passed on, but they said if we wanted money for ourselves, we had to get our butts to school and get to work.”

"Oh,” said Xander. He didn't know what else to say.

Mr. Porter eyed him shrewdly. “You think that was harsh, don't you,” he said.

"Um...”

"Well it wasn't. They did plenty for me and Alice. They made sure we got the best educations money could buy, they taught us how to think for ourselves and act right, and then they just let us go. They didn't keep us hanging around like puppets on strings, waiting for them to die so we could start living. No sir, their money never came between any of us.” He sighed. “Not like some families.”

"Oh?” Now, this sounded a bit more interesting. Did 'some families' included Ma and Pa Auerbach, and their Machida-worshiping son?

Mr. Porter looked grim, as though at a very unpleasant memory. “I'm not one to gossip.”

"Of course not, sir,” Xander murmured diplomatically, and sipped some more coffee. Oh, but he hoped that was a lie.

"But I will say, some people I know, their families weren't nearly as happy as we were.” He picked up a needle-sharp pencil from a wooden holder, and rolled it between his fingers.

Xander sat up and tried to look as encouraging and trustworthy as possible. “I'm sorry to hear it.”

"Too many people don't realize that you can only threaten or bribe your kids into dancing to your tune for so long. Nothing good comes of it.”

"Really, sir?” he said, and waited to hear more.

But Mr. Porter only drummed the eraser end of the pencil on his blotter. “But you didn't come here to hear about that depressing old stuff, did you? How can I help you?”

****************************

Emmett was sulking again when they got back from the mall. Kennedy had nixed almost all of his suggestions for what to get for Xander—much to Andrew's secret disappointment; Emmett had really good taste. However, Andrew had to agree with her that while yes, the skin-tight butter-soft black leather pants would look ' sexxay' on Xander, they would never, ever get him to wear them without holding an apocalypse to his head (a phrasing that made Emmett blink). Xander did not like tight-fitting clothes. Ditto the emerald green T-shirt with mesh panels. Xander didn't like revealing clothes either. The same went for the hat. He didn't do hats, not even dashing black berets. Yes, he would have liked the black leather jacket with silver studs, but Xander already had a jacket. He would have thanked them for the thought, and then taken it right back to exchange for something they really needed. He was kind of a tightwad like that.

In the end, she'd chosen him an assortment of cargo pants, loose-fitting jeans and plain long-sleeved Henley tops. Emmett was only allowed to pick the colors. He'd clearly been un-thrilled. At least he'd gotten some very nice things for himself, and was also able to steer Andrew's wardrobe choices, but only somewhat. Andrew had to admit that while he would have loved to have seen Xander in the outfits Emmett had chosen, wearing them himself was a different story. In the end he'd agreed to just one outfit for 'clubbing': a skin-tight brown T-shirt with _' _ **Too fcukin' cute for YOU!** '__ written in it in silver and a pair of very snug black jeans. The rest of his purchases were totally practical (boring), hence Emmett's continued sulk. After Kennedy had bought two bar locks at a lock shop called 'The Barn Door' (“For night time,” she'd said), they had eaten at the mall's food court, and then headed back to the hotel.

They dropped the packages in a heap between Andrew's bed and the wall. Emmett flopped backward onto the bed while Kennedy closed the deadbolt, stretched and yawned. “Well, you guys can do what you want, but I'm going to go call Willow and then I'm going to the library to see what I can come up with on the Internet.”

"I thought that was _my_ job,” said Andrew.

She looked at the dark smudges Andrew just knew he had under his eyes.“You stay here and get some sleep. You look like hell.”

"I'm fine,” he said, and yawned hugely.

"Sure you are,” she said. He glared at her. “Don't look at me like that. We all know you haven't been sleeping well.”

"I'm _fine_!” he snapped. “You just want to go chat with Willow online without any of us around.”

Kennedy shrugged. “Why would I want to do that when I'm going to call her from my own room in private? Suit yourself, I'm leaving after I call Willow and powder my nose,” she said, and went to the door that connected their rooms.

"What about me?” asked Emmett.

"Your choice, you can stay here with Andrew, or you can come to the library with me,” she said.

"We're _all_ going to the library,” said Andrew. “I don't need a nap.”

Emmett sat up. “Come on, Andy,” he said, patting the bedspread next to himself. “Let's see if there's anything worth watching on cable while we're waiting.”

"OK,” he said, “I call the remote.” He went to sit next to Emmett, snagging it from the console between the two beds on the way.

"Just be ready to go when I come back,” said Kennedy. “Or not.” She shut the door quietly behind her.

Ten minutes later, Emmett had snuggled up to him, and wrapped the bedspread they were lying on downside-out around them both, but he was too sleepy to protest that he wasn't sleepy. The last thing heard was a commercial for toothpaste.

****************************

'No, Mr. Porter wasn't one to gossip,' Xander reflected as he walked the eleven blocks to the Bureau of Building Inspections,

'But lecturing? Now that's a completely different can of worms. I wasn't even talked at this much in high school. I wonder whether he does that to his kids too. It sure would explain why none of _them_ live in Pittsburgh. OK, so he's not such a bad guy; he gave me all the info I wanted, and then some, but damn! That's more about Porter's philosophy of life than I _ever_ wanted to know. I'd tell Giles he doesn't pay me enough for this, but then I'd have to talk about money again; that's one time too many for one day, and never mind what Anya... No. Not thinking about Anya now.'

He stopped and shook his head to clear it.

'Ooops! Sunglasses. Cops nothing, better not let Kennedy catch me without the stylish shades on.'

He hastily ducked into an alley and switched back to the glasses, being careful not to drop the ream of papers Mr. Porter had given him, before continuing on his way. It took a while. All the icy patches and puddles he had to pick his way around slowed him down considerably.

'6 th  Avenue... Augh! Look out for the puddle, Stupid. 5  th  ... Not long now. The only thing worse than walking in this crap is driving in it. Yeah, keep telling yourself that. 3  rd  Avenue... It could be night time. I could be dodging vampires too. Turn left... Oh, well, there's nowhere to park anyway. Ah, here we are. Finally. It didn't look this far on the map. A sign, oh Lord, give me a—ah! OK, elevator, third floor and turn right... It's so quiet here. Spooky. Oh, well. Here I am. Now all I have to do is... Aw shit. Of course it's quiet; they're closed on Saturday, you class-one dork.'

He stared at the sign on the steel-and-glass door announcing the hours: Monday ~ Friday, 9:00 am ~ 4:45 pm. He could see the counter inside and the door to the file-room behind it; so near yet so impossible to reach.

'Now what? Break in? Not into a government office with no tools or back-up, you're not. Crud. Kennedy is going to laugh her ass off. What to do, what to do… Wait for Monday or…'

A bank of public phones caught his eye as he turned back to the elevator.

'...try Plan 'B'.'

****************************

Kennedy's talk with Willow took longer than she'd thought it would. Something new and unsettling had turned up: a magic-user in Pittsburgh was looking for 'Antonia Dvorak.' Simms had called to ask for her 'grandfather's' telephone number because some questions had come up in the Dent case. During his conversation with Willow, somebody had tried to trace out their number with some kind of scrying spell, which Willow had sensed almost immediately. She'd been able to block him, her, or it at a switch in Vancouver, and had traced the scryer back to western Pennsylvania, but then who/whatever it was had sensed her and stopped. It didn't take much imagination to guess what city the spell had been cast in, though. Furthermore, they weren't the only ones tapping the police. Somebody—perhaps the same person, perhaps not—had begun using conventional taps to monitor them since that morning.

“Somebody is not on the side of rainbows and puppies over there,” Willow said.

“No duh. Darn. I kind of liked being Antonia Dvorak. Nobody ignores her.”

“Oh, Sweetie, do people do that to you?”

“Not more than once. It's just really annoying, you know?”

“Well don't give her up just yet.”

“Why?” Kennedy's voice turned mock-suggestive. “You want to do a little roleplay when I get home? Does tweed get you all... hot?”

“Oh, yeah, Baby! Hot... and itchy!” Willow giggled, but soon sobered. “No, we need her to call Simms back and give him 'Grandfather's' number.”

“What? Who?”

“Giles. He's got to talk with Dent's old friend in England again—Whatsisname? Fish? He needs to find out some more stuff. And then you'll give Simms his number, only it won't really be his number, it'll be Buffy's number where she is in England, and she'll turn Simms' call around back to us in Cleveland, and Giles will pretend to be your grandfather. Mr. Snoopy-snoop can just try to trace _that_.”

“Uh... OK. So... what's the number?”

“Not yet, silly. We have to set it up first. Buffy wants to go somewhere she isn't staying 'cause it'll be safer that way—and speaking of which, They're tapping Detective Simms.”

“You said.”

Kennedy had almost been able to hear Willow shaking her head. “It's not just his station it's his own phone too— and Horvath's. That's what I meant. I wonder why they're bugging Horvath's phone.”

“Oh, come _on_ Willow! Isn't it obvious? He's a friend of Emmett's, that's why.”

Willow was silent a moment. When she spoke again, she sounded hurt. “Nobody told me that.”

“I thought Xander—”

“No.”

“... Oh, Baby. I'm sorry. He is though. And I bet they think if Emmett's running scared enough, he'll call his cop friend, and then they'll grab him.”

“They're that close?”

“Yeah. He thinks Horvath's a stand-up guy. He's even trying to set him up with a friend of his. Somebody named 'Debbie'. Emmett's a real _shadch_ _e_ _n_.”

“Oh, that's so sweet, but right now? The cops are radioactive—they're a plague—they're a radioactive plague. Tell the guys to stay far, far away from them, especially Simms and Horvath, OK?”

“You better believe it. Willow?”

“Yes?”

“What's this about Langston Auerbach and Delta Zeta Kappa? I don't think I've ever seen Xander like that.”

“He didn't say?”

“Not a single word. He just sat there looking like he wanted to murder somebody. I don't know if it was so bad he didn't want to talk about it, or if he just couldn't in front of Emmett.”

“The second, I think, but he might be feeling a little sensitive... OK, so this was years and years ago, back when we were in high school, right? Delta Zeta Kappa was a fraternity at the university in Sunnydale? For years and years, all the guys in it always got everything they wanted. Everything. Well, we found out why when they invited Buffy and Cordelia to one of their parties and then they tried to sacrifice them to this big, ugly snake-monster-demon-thingy. They were mean to Xander too.”

“You're kidding me.”

“Oh, no. No kidding. I don't know what they did, but he was really mad about it.”

“No! I mean the 'sacrifice Buffy' part. What the hell was wrong with these people?”

Willow snickered. “They didn't know she was a slayer. And after she got loose and chopped up their pet demon with a sword? It was too late. The thing that makes what they did even worse is those guys were already from rich families. They didn't even need more money and stuff. There's just no excuse.”

“Great Goddess.” Kennedy shook her head in disgust. “No wonder Xander looked like he was about to commit mayhem. Not even Uncle Dougie would do something like that.”

“...You don't like him much, do you.”

“No. Do you know how every family has somebody they'd rather not talk about?”

“Uncle Dougie...?”

“Acts like it's me.”

“Oooh! That make me so mad. I already don't like him too.”

“... Did I tell ever tell you that I love you?”

“You _might_ have mentioned it,” Willow said softly. Kennedy could almost see her sweet, impish smile.

“I love you even more than that.”

“I love you even more than that too.” There was a long silence, and then they sighed together.

“Oh, well, the sooner I'm done here, the sooner I can come home,” said Kennedy. “So that's what the mystery was. If Auerbach's the kind of guy who'd do that, he's definitely the kind of guy who'd've murdered Mr. Dent for his magic books.”

“Oh! Wait! That's not all,” said Willow. “Now I'm not sure Auerbach is that kind of guy. I did some more checking since this morning.”

“There's more?”

“You better believe it. See, right after Buffy killed that snake thingy, a bunch of Zeta Kappas, ones that were in the Sunnydale house? They lost all their money, got invited for long stays at Club Fed courtesy the IRS or the SEC... Some of them committed suicide. It's a magic thing. They sacrificed to the demon for wealth and power, so when the demon died...”

“So did their luck. And Auerbach?”

“Didn't lose a dime. But—”

“Crap! I want this over!”

“ _But_ **—** now listen to this, _but_ a friend of his _did_ lose everything. There's another Zeta Kappa who went to UC Sunnydale with Auerbach living in Pittsburgh. A guy named Wheatly Maddison. He totally fits the pattern: fabulously rich and successful one day, and having minus five million dollars, a big bunch of embezzling charges and SEC violations the next. Plus the IRS on his butt for _beaucoups de_ back taxes.”

“Well, well, well... So you think Auerbach's innocent and this Maddison guy may be the one?”

“Yeah, I'm guessing 'maybe' right now. The only bad thing that happened to Auerbach about then was his wife died—and that really happened to her, not him.”

“For some guys that would even be a good thing” Kennedy's mouth twisted cynically.

“I don't know... I guess he could have signed up with another demon and paid with Dolores Auerbach's life... He'd have to have known a lot more about the occult than your average multi-millionaire, though.”

“So?”

“He's really hard to get a handle on. Except for going to university on a hellmouth, I haven't found anything unusual about him on line yet.”

“So maybe he's innocent. And Maddison?”

“Oh, he's guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty.”

“No need to be shy, Honey. Tell me what you really think.”

“I 'think' the only reason he's not in jail right now is his old friend Auerbach paid off his debts and legal bills—”

“That's something unusual, isn't it?”

“No,” Willow said somewhat stiffly. “People'll do a lot to help their friends when they're in trouble.”

“Five million dollars, Baby, plus lawyers.”

“If you had the money, would you do it? Honestly?”

“Honestly?” Kennedy thought a moment. “In a heartbeat.”

“See? Nothing unusual.”

“Dent's wardrobe in Auerbach's basement?”

“Maddison moved into Auerbach's house after he lost his own. He's been living there for the last seven years.”

“So, you think Auerbach is off the menu of 'people most likely to' and Maddison is on?”

“Not _off_ the menu… There's still a little on-the-menu-ness... But, he' just a… a side-dish—like a green salad, maybe, and Maddison's an entree.”

“What about the vampires?”

“Well, we know for sure Maddison knows about demons...”

“Yeah, I guess he could have hooked up with them and gotten them to help him... But why would they?”

“I don't know... Maybe they want the books too?”

“Vampires don't usually care about that kind of stuff,” said Kennedy. “They're more 'kill, kill, kill, fun, fun, fun'.”

“Some do, though...”

“Dangerous ones. Dangerous for their allies too. If Maddison—”

“—Or Auerbach.”

“Or Auerbach got them to kidnap and torture Dent two years ago... Well, it's surprising he's not dead by 'barbecue fork' yet. Why do you suppose?”

“Maybe...,” Willow began, and then was silent a long moment. “No, I've got nothing. We need more. I sent what I found out about those guys to your e-mail. Are you anywhere you can download it?”

“I will be. I was going to the library to see what the archives had on Auerbach, so I'll just check mail and Maddison too.”

She and Willow said “good-bye” for another fifteen minutes, and finally Kennedy was ready to go.

****************************

William Porter had decided to take advantage of the unexpected extra office time to clear out his spam folder and go over some paperwork that he'd originally planned to let wait until Monday. He hadn't worked on the weekend since the heart attack, and to tell the truth, he found he kind of missed it. Much quieter. Much easier to get things done. He was nearly finished when he heard somebody tapping on his office door.

“Mr. Porter?”

“Yes?”

“Hello, I'm Detective Simms with the PPD. Your wife told me you were working on a few things here. May I have a moment of your time?”

****************************

Kennedy tapped lightly on the door to the guy's room, and went in. The TV was barely audible over Andrew's slight snoring. Just as she'd thought. Emmett, the sneak, had lulled him to sleep. “So,” she said softly, “do you want to come to the library with me?”

"Oh, I don't _think_ so,” Emmett answered. He sounded like he was half a moment away from dropping off himself.

"Good. I don't want to wake Andrew up. You'll see he gets a good rest, OK?”

"OK,” he yawned.

"And Xander gets back before I do, could you tell them that Willow said all the cops are being monitored? Whoever is doing it is looking for us—you and me, I mean.”

He cocked his head and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Is she sure?”

"Oh, yes. She's Q. Not much gets by my Willow.” Kennedy could feel a wide proprietary smile spread across her face.

"You're very proud of her.”

"You have no idea.” She smiled a moment longer, and then turned serious. “Emmett, do you know somebody named Wheatly Maddison?”

"Oh, yes. He's a friend of Mr. Auerbach's. I met him at the party. Best way I can describe him? 'Po' folks got po' ways'.” He sniffed disdainfully.

"Have you seen him again since then?”

"The day before yesterday when I went to look for my chafing dish. He was talking with Auerbach when I came out of that room.” He pulled himself up, but not enough to wake Andrew, and looked her in the face. “Why?”

"Just... Could you hear what they were talking about?”

"Not really. Maddison seemed upset about something, though. He said, 'The last one wound up in Bumfuck, Mongolia!' and then they saw me and stopped talking. Well, they stopped talking to each other. Mr. Auerbach asked me what I thought I was doing there. He was very short with me.” He tilted his head so that his cheek touched the top of Andrew's head, and said softly, “You don't really think he bought that wardrobe from Mr. Dent, do you?”

"No. No, I don't. None of us do.”

"Oh,” said Emmett in a small voice.

She bit her lip. “I think one way or another, it's all going to come out soon. Somebody's made a bargain with the devil, and you know what eventually happens to people who do that. They don't have much longer, not if karma works the way it's supposed to. We just have to make sure they don't take us down with them when it happens.”

"What... What do you mean?”

"What I said. Look after Andrew while I'm out, OK?”

"...OK,” he said. Kennedy locked the door behind her after she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was rather disjointed, but I hope you all enjoyed it anyway. Feel free to comment!


	19. Assumptions and Presumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Andrew wakes up, and Xander has cold feet.

Emmett was sticky-warm when he came to that hazy state between sleep and waking. He couldn't remember what had woken him as he lay spooned against Andrew's back, sweet-smelling hair soft in his face; tickling his nose. His left arm was crooked up under his pillow; his right arm curled over the younger man's waist. He vaguely remembered dreaming that he was in bed with Teddy in the home they'd shared during their all-too-brief 'marriage,' which was probably why his hand had crept up under Andrew's shirt and settled on his bare belly. He considered pulling away, but tangled up as he was in the bedspread and his clothes, he couldn't move without a struggle that would wake Andrew. His clothes were doubtless all wrinkled too. Little by little he became aware that Andrew wasn't actually asleep anymore. Emmett could hear his breathing; faint, but still harsh with a forced regularity. Through his fingertips, he could feel Andrew's muscles tense, abruptly relaxing again, and slowly tensing again. Andrew was not crying.

“Hey, are you OK?” Emmett asked softly.

“...Yeah,” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“Sorry.” Emmett began to let go, but Andrew quickly caught his hand and pulled it back. He held it there, his stomach warm against Emmett's palm.

“Don't,” he said, and swallowed hard. “Just...”

“Oh. OK.” Taking the hint, Emmett held him tighter, and stroked his belly in slow, lazy circles. They lay like that until Andrew's breathing evened out. “Did you have another nightmare?”

“Uh-huh,” he whispered.

“Well,” said Emmett with determined cheerfulness, “at least it wasn't as loud as last night.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...” Andrew's voice trailed off, and he sniffled.

Emmett felt like a heel. “Now baby, everybody has bad dreams sometimes. Why, just last month I dreamed I was at my favorite club, and all of a sudden I started pulling my pants down. It was just awful.”

Andrew sniffled again. “Really?”

“Oh, yes! I just couldn't believe it. I'd _never_ do that on Dyke Night.” Emmett shuddered theatrically “Ugh! All those women checking out my delicate naked bod? Now _that's_ a nightmare. Not that I'm prejudiced, or anything.” Andrew laughed shakily, and Emmett reached up out of the tangled bedspread to stroke his hair. “There, that's better, isn't it?”

Andrew squirmed back, snuggling closer. “I wish I still dreamed about being naked in public.”

“Why? What do you dream about?”

“Oh... Stuff. Stuff I did; stuff I didn't do.” He sighed heavily.

Emmett reared up on his left elbow to look down at his face, and said “Hey,” very softly, but Andrew only stared blankly at Xander's bed. Emmett stroked a few wisps of hair off his temple. “You're a good person. What could you have possibly done that's so awful, hm?” He didn't answer. He only flinched and shut his eyes when Emmett went on to say, “It's not like you robbed a bank, or kidnapped anyone, or murdered somebody, right?” Silence. Emmett shook his shoulder “Right?”

Eyes still shut, Andrew asked, “Do you know what the difference between stupid and evil is?”

“Um... No?”

“Me either.”

“Well, I don't think you're stupid or evil.” Andrew was silent again. “Why do you think that, huh? Did somebody tell you that? Hey! Don't listen to people like that. You know what? All the time I was growing up back in Hazelhurst, some people used to tell me I was going to burn in hell if I didn't stop being a faggot, which was something I could not do, any more than I could fly to the Moon by flapping my ears. And I finally came to a conclusion: people like that are full of what makes the corn grow tall. They're the stupid and evil ones. Not us.”

“'Us'?” Andrew's eyes popped open, and he turned to look Emmett in the face, bewildered. “What do you mean 'us'?”

Didn't he know? How could he not know? “Andy, sweetie, I hate to break this to you, but I think you just might be gay too.”

Andrew squirmed onto his back and blinked up at the older man. “You think I'm what?”

“Gay.” Andrew only stared at him. “Queer? A fag?”

“...You think I'm gay?”

“Well, aren't you?”

Andrew continued staring, and Emmett groaned. Andrew was still young, but to still be in denial at this age? Or did his gaydar need an overhaul? “OK, when you fuck...”

Now Andrew, pink and open-mouthed, was looking at him as if he'd suddenly grown another head—an 'other' other head.

“You have had sex, right?”

No answer.

“Right?”

“Uh...”

“I guess that means 'no'.”

“Hey! Mind your own business!”

Oh, well. At least he had taken Andy's mind off whatever it was he'd just been dreaming about. “Now, there's nothing to be ashamed of. I think it's wonderful that you're saving yourself.”

Andrew was blushing beet red now. “Um...”

“What are you saving yourself _for_ , anyway?” Emmett asked in spite of himself, and quickly went on. “Never mind. Forget I said that. So. Are you gay? OK, then, let's look at this logically. When you're whipping your weasel, who would you rather think of, um... one of Charlie's Angels,” Andrew looked a little alarmed, “or James Bond?”

Andrew thought for a moment. “Which Bond?”

That settled it. “You're gay.”

“Oh. I'm gay?” He considered this for a moment. “I guess that would explain...”

“Why you like Xander so much?”

“No, why I didn't like Anya more.”

“Anya?”

“She was Xander's girlfriend.”

“And you didn't like her?”

“I liked her a lot, I just didn't _like_ her. I mean not that way. I mean she was _perfect…_ The perfect woman. Beautiful, brave, sexy, smart...”

“But you still didn't like her that way.”

“No, and I just kept thinking I should, but I didn't. I just thought it was because they had this—this whole impossible romance thing going, and they were fated to be together, and she was so... So... Actually, she was kind of scary.”

“Impossible romance? Scary? What happened, did they break up?”

“She died.”

“Oh, how sad. Was it an accident?”

“Yeah, a _big_ accident,” Andrew said, and began to laugh. Emmett didn't like the tinge of hysteria in the laughter, or the distinct sob at the end of it. “I don't know how he can stand to look at me.”

“Andrew,” Emmett began soothingly, “Xander doesn't blame you. He likes you.”

“You think so?”

“I know he does. Well, maybe not _like_ you, 'cause sad to say, I think he's either mostly straight, or else he's really dense. But, it's not because you're not likeable. Lickable, even.” Emmett gave him a—purely—friendly leer.

“Really?”

“Sure, I'd _like_ you in half a second.”

“Really?”

“You keep saying that. Yes, really. Why? Do you want me to show you?”

“...yes?” Andrew's eyes were huge and hungry in the dim light.

Emmett leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips, and then he pulled away. Before he had a chance to say anything, Andrew reached up and cupped his hand behind Emmett's head.

“Again?”

So he leaned down to kiss Andrew again. Soft, sweet... and warm, like the raspberries he used to pick off the canes in Aunt Dora's garden. After a while of that, he had to surface for air. “You're very good at this,” he said “Are you sure you've never done this before?” The younger man nodded mutely. “Mmm. You're going to be a heartbreaker when you really get going.” He leaned down to kiss Andy some more, only stopping when he heard the doorknob rattle. “Damn!”

“Damn,” Andrew half-whispered in an awed voice.

************************************

Xander juggled his haul and tried again to get the key in the lock. He thought he heard someone in the room yell 'Keep your shirt on!' but by then he was finally able to open the door himself. Andrew was sitting up in the middle of his rumpled bedspread; Emmett was sitting on the edge, putting on a shoe. They were both all mussed and flushed; obviously they'd been sleeping.

Emmett groaned when he saw the papers Xander was carrying. “More?”

“More.” Xander pulled the door shut behind him. “Were you guys taking a nap?”

“Yeah.” “Uh-huh,” the other two chorused.

“Oh, sorry I woke you up.”

Emmett smiled wryly. “You didn't. We just woke up on our own before you got here.” He still sounded a little annoyed. He was probably just being nice.

“Ah. OK. Good.” Xander looked around for someplace he could put this batch of papers without getting them mixed up with any of the other ones they'd hauled in earlier. Finally, he put them on the desk, next to the TV. “Where's Kennedy?”

“She went to the library,” Andrew answered. He pouted for a moment until Emmett hit him lightly on the arm and frowned at him. “Ah, um, and that's OK.”

“Better her than me,” Xander stretched luxuriously, leaned down to untie his shoelaces, and kicked off his wet workboots by the door. “Augh! I am so sick of paperwork. What's at the library this time?”

“She said she wanted to see what else she could find out about Langston Auerbach,” said Andrew. He still sounded just a little testy.

“I see.” He must have really been feeling out of it to let her go without him. Oh. She'd probably waited until he was asleep, and then sneaked out. Lucky thing Emmett seemed to be good at dealing with cranky Andrew.

“And Wheatly Maddison,” added Emmett.

“Who?” the other two chorused.

“She mentioned him just before she left—you were sound asleep by then, Andy. He's a friend of Mr. Auerbach's. I saw him at the party, and he was there with Auerbach when I found the wardrobe.”

“Ah? Now that's very interesting.” Xander squelched over to an armchair, and turned it so he could put his wet, stockinged feet up on the heater and see the guys at the same time. The warmth made him groan with pleasure. He leaned forward to pull the socks off. Yup. His toes were that horrible sort of pink-blue-gray he'd never seen on a live person before moving to Ohio. Would he ever get used to Midwest winters? He flopped the wet socks onto the radiator next to his feet, so they could dry more quickly.

This byplay didn't escape Emmett's attention. “Maybe you should get some new boots? We saw some nice black ones at the mall.”

Xander shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.” But liked the boots he had now. They'd just finally gotten comfortable—except for letting his feet get sopping wet when he stepped into bigass puddles of slush. He looked speculatively at his wet footwear by the door. “Or maybe I can waterproof these ones...”

Andrew nudged Emmett for attention. “You didn't say anything about this Wheat-guy before.”

“Maddison? Oh. Well, Kennedy brought him up after you fell asleep. I think your friend Willow told her about him while they were talking on the phone.”

Xander cocked his head. “Did Kennedy say anything else?”

Emmett looked like he was trying to remember something. “Um... She doesn't think Auerbach came by that wardrobe legally?”

“She doesn't, huh?” said Xander.

“Well, you knew that already, didn't you?”

“Yeah... I did. And?”

“And she thinks whatever those guys're up to is going to bite them on the ass pretty soon?”

“Uh-huh, that would be my guess too...” He made a 'go on' gesture, trying to jog Emmett's memory.

“And then she went to see what she could find out about Maddison...” Emmett thought for a moment. “He went to school with Auerbach.”

Ahhh! So _that_ was it. Probably another follower of Machida. Now things were starting to add up. “So, tell me about this Maddison guy.”

“Well... He was from one of the old, rich families that only talks to the other old, rich families? Like that. You know, one of the top flakes on the upper crust around here” Emmett made a face like he'd just remembered biting a green apple, and finding half a worm in it. “And I do mean a flake. I know poor white trash with better manners. Hell I _am_ poor white trash with better manners. I wouldn't have thought anything about him, except after the party was over, some of the staff told me about how rude he'd been.” He shrugged, and sniffed derisively. “Talk about your people in glass houses. He had some kind of legal trouble awhile back... Lost all his money and then some, and almost wound up in jail.”

Xander couldn't help it. Every time he remembered his humiliation at the Delts's party and what happened to all the frat brothers after Buffy offed their snake god, he had to sneer. “Couldn't have happened to a nicer fellow. So when did this happen? About six, seven years ago?”

“I think so... I guess he was able to get out of it somehow 'cause there he was.”

“Hmmm,” said Xander. “I wonder how these two managed to get away with it. The rest of them got bagged.”

“'The rest of them'?” Emmett looked at him strangely. “What do you mean?”

“Long story. Why didn't you tell us about him sooner?”

“I just don't know.” Emmett rolled his eyes and tossed his head. “Why, I just love to go on and on about people I don't care about all the time, especially to people who've never heard of them before.”

“OK, fair enough.” Xander held up his hands in a pacifying gesture and looked back at his wet boots, now in their own small puddle. He sighed. “Well, it's about four. I guess we should go catch up with Kennedy at the library, and then see about dinner.” He picked up one of his wet socks, and began to put it on.

“Don't do that,” said Emmett. “You'll get frostbite or something.”

“I don't exactly have a choice here. It's my last pair.”

Andrew bounced over to the edge of his bed and began to root around in the pile of packages next to the wall. “You don't have to! We got you some nice, warm new ones. Merino wool. Emmett says it's the best for winter.”

“Actually, I like cashmere better, but Kennedy said no way were we paying $45 a pair—”

“Yikes!”

“And I can see why.” said Emmett, turning to help Andrew dig up the new socks. “The merino ones were on closeout. They're really warm too, and we tried to get the softest ones they had.”

“OK, good. Crap. Look at my boots. They'll just get wet again even if I don't step in any more of those little lakes they've got all over the sidewalks.”

“Oh, is that what happened?” asked Emmett.

“Yeah. There was one right in front of the Building Inspections' office, and I walked right into it because it looked like just more slush.” He began to put the wet sock back on again. The hems of his pants were wet too. “Thanks guys, but I'll just go with this for now, and try to be more careful.”

“You'll get sick,” said Andrew.

Emmett cut Xander off before he could say something rather terse about being mother-henned. “Actually, I have a better idea. Sometimes when I was a kid, we'd have the same problem, so what we'd do is put on a clean pair of socks, and then we'd put on plastic bags on over them, and that kept our feet all dry and warm until spri—until we could buy new boots.”

“That would work, but wouldn't that look...”

“Kind of stupid? Yeah, so I just put on another pair over the plastic to hide it. We got new pants for you too.”

“Great! These are sticking to me. I just hate that.”

“I know,” sighed Emmett.

“What?”

“Nothing. Let's get changed and go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this fic years before Andrew realized he was gay in the comics. I'm a bit surprised that I was right about something in the Buffyverse for a change. 
> 
> ^_^
> 
> As always, questions and comments are welcome!


	20. Hints and Allegations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emmett tries to figure things out and everybody helps him more than they mean to.

Xander paused to look at the building across the street, and sighed. “And here we are again.”

Andrew nudged him, and they started slogging to the crosswalk again. “I don't know why you don't like it. It's a good library.”

“Not much into reading?” asked Emmett.

“No,” said Xander, “I keep remembering the school library back home. You never knew what was going to jump out at you from behind a bookshelf. Going in there alone was a bad idea.”

“Rough neighborhood? That's too bad. In my school, it was always the librarian jumping out from behind the shelves, and that was bad enough. She was _such_ a nasty old bitch. We used to call her Fishface.”

“Boy, she sounds awful,” said Andrew.

“She was,” said Emmett. “She used to spy on everybody, spread rumors... My best friend almost broke up with her boyfriend because of that old cu—” He glanced at Andrew. “—at.”

“What did she do?” asked Andrew.

“Never mind,” said Emmett shortly. “This is the first time I thought of her since I left Hazelhurst, and that's more than I want to.”

“I'm glad as hell our librarian wasn't like that,” said Xander.

“Yeah,” added Andrew. “Mr. Giles was so cool—I mean he _is_ so cool. He's like Obi-wan. Sort of a middle Obi-wan, between Alec Guinness and Ewan McGregor.”

“Except for the accent?” asked Emmett.

“No! He's British. He's got a nice accent. It's really...” Andrew glanced away for a moment.

Emmett smiled knowingly. “And he was your librarian? You two were so lucky... Oh! That's why you're after those books isn't it? You want them for his library!”

Xander pinched the bridge of his nose and emitted an exasperated whimper.

“Don't worry, I won't tell anybody.”

“Thank you.” Xander looked up across the street. “Light's green.”

************************************

They found Kennedy in the periodicals archive. She'd printed out all the files Willow had sent when she'd first gotten there, and then had moved on to see what she could find in the old newspapers. She wasn't too happy to be there either. All the newspapers older than 2000 had been stored on microfiche, and looking through the reader had given her a headache. They found articles—what few there were—a lot faster with the four of them working together. When the library closed, they decided to go to the same restaurant Kennedy, Andrew, and Xander had gone to on their first day in Pittsburgh. This time it was very busy. They eventually got a large table in a booth at the back where they could discuss their findings in private. Emmett and Andrew took one side; Kennedy and Xander, the other.

Xander started the discussion after the waitress took their orders, and got them their drinks. They settled in to wait for their food. As full as the place was, dinner was going to take a while. “So, gang, what have we learned about our errant millionaires?”

“Millionaire, singular,” said Kennedy. “Maddison's an ex-millionaire. He's got minus money—”

“Still more than a creep like that deserves,” muttered Xander.

“Mee-oow! What did he ever do to you?” asked Emmett.

“It's... Look, what... What he did... ”

“You can finish that thought any time, now,” said Emmett.

Xander just looked frustrated.

“Being an asshole is bad. Fraud is worse. Nobody's arguing about that, but it's not like he killed somebody.”

“Oh, yes it is. It's exactly like that,” Xander snarled.

Emmett's jaw dropped. “You _can't_ be serious.”

“Do I look like I'm joking?”

No, he didn't look like he was joking at all.

“All right then, who? Who's he supposed to have killed? And why would he have needed to anyway? His family was as rich as Croesus.” Emmett wished Xander would take those sunglasses off; they let him look entirely too… something.

Kennedy broke in. “Um, Emmett? Before you go defending this guy, keep in mind, he has a murdered man's furniture sitting in his basement.”

“Oh.” He deflated slightly, and then sat up again. “You know, actually that's not his basement. It's Auerbach's.”

“Actually it _is_ his basement,” she said. “Now, anyway. Auerbach invited him to move in after the SEC/IRS smackdown. He's lived there for the last six years.”

“Auerbach” Xander relaxed back in his seat, and looked up at the ceiling. “Auerbach, Auerbach, Auerbach... That's what I don't understand. Why does he still have _his_ stuff? Why isn't he rotting in jail like his buddy Wheatly ought to be?”

“Maybe he didn't join the... the deal,” she said.

“What deal?” asked Emmett.

Xander and Kennedy just looked at each other.

“Yeah, what deal?” Andrew looked from one to the other.

Xander said, “The deal Maddison made that got him... what he used to have.”

“What he wants to have again,” said Kennedy. “That was his motive for killing our Mr. Dent, I'll bet you anything.”

“I don't understand. Were his books that valuable?” asked Emmett.

“Oh, yes,” said Andrew softly. “To the right... people, they'd be worth a lot.”

“Millions? Would they be worth that much?”

Andrew looked down at his hands in his lap. “Probably more.”

“Tsk! Collectors.” Emmett sighed. “They're all as crazy as bedbugs. I mean, who cares whether or not you have a copy of _'Romeo and Juliet'_ in Shakespeare's own handwriting? The important thing is that we can all see the play.”

Xander grinned. “If you go in for that kind of thing. I hated that one ever since we had to study it in English class.”

“What! How can you hate ' _Romeo and Juliet_?' It is the most romantic story _ever_!”

Xander grinned at Emmett. “You mean the most stupid story ever. Why didn't they just tell their folks they were in love and wanted to get married?”

“Oh, please! What about the feud? They would have all hit the roof.”

“In two words? 'B' and 'S.' Their parents were obviously all sick of that fighting. A chance to end it without anybody looking like losers? They would have loved it! But nooo, those two idiots had to sneak around being 'romantic,' and—”

“Shut up, both of you,” said Kennedy. “They're dea—they were never even alive! And we've got a _real_ problem here.”

“OK,” muttered Xander, “Fine. I flunked that class anyway. _I_ don't care if—”

Kennedy make an exasperated noise and glared at him.

“Sorry. Shutting up now.”

Everybody was silent a moment.

“Well, go on.” Xander finally said. “What else did Willow find?”

“Just a sec.” She pulled the folded sheaf of printouts from her coat pocket, and looked them over. “OK, Wheatly Maddison, born here in Pittsburgh March 28, 1951, Dad was a lawyer, Mom inherited a cool 7 million from her grandfather's oil business, dih-dah, went to Sharpe's Academy... It's a boy's prep school. Mediocre grades. No extra-curricular activities. DUI when he was 16, dih-dee, Mummy and Daddy threw money at it until it went away, dih-dah dih-dee, a couple more DUIs, and... Oh, looky here guys. Shoplifting, driving without a valid license and... Why, Wheat, you rascal. Got kicked out of the Academy for cheating on the physics mid-term, did you? Bet it took a lot of the old payola to get you back in.” She shook her head mock-sorrowfully. “Bombed the SAT. Look, 453 math, 649 verbal—”

“That's better than what I got,” said Xander.

“You weren't trying to get into Princeton. Ivy league sneers at scores like this. East Armpit, Oklahoma Community College sneers at scores like this. Mummy and Daddy would have had to pull major strings to even get him into UC Sunnydale.”

“Well, they had the money,” said Emmett. “ _The Review_ was pretty harsh. They called him a 'lively young man'.”

“That's harsh?” asked Andrew.

“Well, he was a minor. If they said what they really meant, they'd get sued.”

“And 'lively young man' means?” asked Kennedy.

“Bad influence; don't let your kids hang out with him.”

“Uh-huh. So,” said Xander, “Young Mr Ne'er-Do-Well goes to UC Sunnydale. What about after that?”

She looked back down at the printouts. “He pledges Delta Zeta Kappa, gets a 'B' average first semester, and then pulls at least an 'A-' average for the next three-and-a-half years, goes to work for a securities company, moves up to CFO after a few years, and winds up owning it when the owner, his family, and the rest of the board of directors die in a plane crash. Typical American success story.”

“No more gossip columns, either,” said Emmett. “Not until that mess with the SEC and the IRS blew up in his face.” He frowned. “Now that I think about it, that's more than a little strange. He was divorced four times—five after he went bankrupt. They usually pay at least _some_ attention to things like that.”

“Yeah.” Xander's lips curled into a sneer. “Go figure. OK, what about his good buddy Auerbach? More of the same?”

“Uh, actually? No,” said Kennedy. "Emmett, When you met him, what was your impression of him?"

"Personally? I didn't really have one. He was very distant, very hands-off about the whole party. I only actually talked to him when I went to look for my chafing dish, and he was not happy with me at all. " Emmett winced. "I was more worried about the impression _I_ made on _him_ , right then."

“Huh. OK, Langston Auerbach, born August 15, 1951. Dad owned a machine parts factory, old family business, parents divorced when he was 5, Mother died in a skiing accident in Switzerland the next year. Also went to Sharpe's Academy. Dean's list sophomore and junior years, but senior year his grades started slipping a bit. Scored 99th percentile on the SAT, though. Was invited to go to Harvard, but went to UC Sunnydale on a scholarship instead. Why? Why on earth would anybody go there?”

“Hey!” said Xander. “Don't go dissin' my hometown.”

“You know what I mean,” she said.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” said Emmett. “Listen to this, it's so romantic—”

“You mean 'stupid'?” Xander grinned.

“Oh, shut up. His niece told me—you know, the one who's getting married?—she said 'Uncle Langston and Aunt Dolores fell in love in high school—'”

“What?” asked Kennedy, reading at her printouts. “Says here Dolores Schrumm Auerbach's mother got sick when she was 16, and she dropped out to go to work.”

“Yes, I _know_ that. I meant _he_ was in high school. The kids on the Dean's list had off-campus privileges, see? One day he and a bunch of his friends went for burgers at the place she was waitressing—”

“Joe's?” asked Kennedy, looking at Willow's information.

“That's right! That's where it was. She came to take their order, and he fell crazy in love with her at first sight.” Emmett sighed happily.

“His family must have been thrilled.” Xander said.

Emmett shook his head. “Of course they were against it. Well, his dad was against it. Jane told me—”

“Jane?” asked Andrew.

“Jane Messenger, Auerbach's niece who's getting married? She told me that his father told him 'Break up with that gold digger, or no Harvard for you,' and _he_ said 'Fine, I got a National Merit Scholarship at the University of California—'”

“Ahh,” said the others.

“Yeah. 'So I don't need _your_ money,' he said, and then his dad said, 'If you leave, don't come back,' and then he told his dad to take a flying leap at a rolling doughnut and he left.”

“Wow,” breathed Andrew.

“I take it back,” said Xander “That _is_ romantic. I'm kind of liking this guy, but didn't that mean he had to leave her too?”

“Jane said 'Aunt' Dolores promised to wait for him. She didn't have to wait long either. It was in all the papers; Eric Auerbach didn't treat his employees any better than he treated his wife or his kids. One of them went postal and gunned him down on the factory floor after the old buzzard pink-slipped him.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Kennedy. “The Post had a whole series about that.”

“So did the Tribune,” said Xander, ruffling his copies. “They said here the guy—the shooter—had a short temper, and just reading between the lines, it looks to me like everybody expected something like this to happen to Eric Auerbach for years... Junior must have been pretty twisted up about how that all went down.”

“Why?” asked Andrew. “His father sounds like a total...” He looked over at Xander, who was staring blankly at his papers, and coughed.

This didn't go by Emmett. “Well, you know, you can fight with your parents. Disagree with them about everything, even hate them sometimes, but ... They're still your parents.”

“Yeah.” Xander cleared his throat. “I bet he was upset.”

They were all silent a moment, until Emmett said. “Well, some good came out of it; his father hadn't cut him out of his will like he said he was going to, so Langston had enough money to go to Harvard and get married on after all.” Emmett shrugged. “And they stayed happily married until she died. Jane still misses her Aunt.”

“How did she die?” asked Xander.

“I don't know...” said Emmett. “She said it was some kind of attack. Maybe a heart attack?”

Xander turned to Kennedy. “What did the autopsy say?”

“There wasn't one. Willow says Auerbach refused to have one done, and there wasn't any evidence that a judge would issue a warrant on. Her doctor thought she had a stroke.”

“So that's it, then. If there was anything... wrong... about how she died, it'll be really hard to figure it out now that she's been buried for seven years. Or was she cremated?”

“Well, no,” said Kennedy. “Neither. Auerbach set up a trust fund with the University of Pittsburgh to keep her body in cryogenic storage. They take care of her; they get paid, so now she's a corpsicle. As long as she doesn't get freezer-burn...”

The men stared at her.

“Oh, come on! Don't tell me you guys weren't thinking the same thing.”

“Only those of us who were raised by wolves,” said Emmett.

Andrew covered his mouth to hide a snicker, but then something occurred to him. “Oh, most unfortunate lady. This is just like episode 26 of Star Trek, the Next Generation, the one where Captain Picard found those frozen people in that 20th century probe? She could wake up centuries in the future, and she'll be all alone. She's going to be so unhappy; why has he done this to her?”

“Well, Jane said her uncle was absolutely distraught when she passed away, and he just couldn't bear... You know.” Emmett added, “And, I really, really don't think she's going to be coming back.”

“No.” Xander stared into his coffee cup for a long, quiet moment. Emmett could see Andrew's foot move under the table just before Kennedy started and glared back.

“That's all I got,” she said. “Any more?” Silence. “OK, then. Next? What did Porter say, 'Boss?' Boss!”

“Huh?” Xander looked up at her.

“Porter? What did he say?”

“Oh,” he chuckled mirthlessly. “Quite a lot. In fact, what _didn't_ he say—except for gossip. Not one for the gossip is our Mr. Porter, which is too bad, 'cause I've got a feeling he knows some really good stuff.”

“Maybe we'll get it later. Now? I've had enough gossip,” she said.

He sighed. “OK. So, he re-confirmed giving permission to put in all the shelves. Gave me the plans Dent left with him back then too. He said the police told him they were going to notify Dent's contact person back in the UK: Quentin Travers.” His face screwed up as if he just sipped some sour milk.  “I'd love to know whether Bowen or anybody here actually did that.”

“Why not call him and ask?” said Emmett.

“'Cause he went 'boom' in December, year before last," Kennedy said. "Don't you remember what I said back at the hotel?”

Xander did not look to be at all grieved by the fact. Emmett guessed that whoever Travers was, he was not one of Xander's favorite people.

“Oh, that's right,” Emmett said. “You know, when you put it like that, it all sounds really fishy.”

“Doesn't it just?” said Xander with bitter humor. “It is, only not the way you think. We know who did that, and they've been... Well, they won't be causing trouble for a long while, I hope.”

“What do you mean 'not fishy the way I think'?” asked Emmett.

Xander sighed. “I think I better just tell you all what happened. You'll see in a minute.” He waited a moment and went on. “First of all, just to explain some of what happened later, the year before last was really bad for Porter. Around the end of April, back while the police were still investigating the Dent case, he had a heart attack that nearly killed him.”

“But he looks so healthy,” said Andrew.

“You'd be surprised,” Emmett shook his head sadly. George had been so full of life...

“Remind me not to have him give you his stop-smoking-eat-right-and-exercise pep talk. I forget whether it came before or after his 'credit cards are evil' talk... No, the 'don't retire' talk was first—I guess I hit one of his 'hot' buttons. Then it was 'pay cash, and 'live healthy' came right after that...” Xander shuddered. “Lucky for me I already do the 'healthy' thing.”

“Except for the Twinkies,” said Kennedy.

Xander grinned at her. “Hey, everybody's got to have some vice to keep them humble. Can I have 'sleeping in' as mine? I'll give up Twinkies for it.”

Kennedy just looked ironic.

“Huh. Didn't think so. Oh, by the way? No therapy tomorrow, OK? It's Sunday.”

She considered this a moment. “Yeah, OK.”

“Good. OK. So, the heart attack put Porter out of commission for a few months, and then just when he was about to go back to work, he had more chest pains. They weren't as bad, but after that he decided to take a break for a while. Actually, I think his doctor ordered him to do it. He got his brother-in-law to collect the rents and take care of the tenants until he got back, and then he went to travel and visit his kids. And grandkids. And great-grandkids. He has pictures. Lots of pictures. Anyway, Dent's rent was paid up until the end of the year, so he couldn't legally rent it out to anyone else until after then. He couldn't even get it ready to rent out without permission from Dent's heirs.”

“Wait a minute. He didn't even try to get in touch with Dent's family himself?” asked Kennedy.

“He couldn't. The only number he had was Quentin Travers. Bowen had asked him to wait a while to call him, so that they could talk to him first. Porter finally called Travers right before his heart trouble started.”

She leaned forward in her chair intent on Xander's story. “And?”

“And Porter was really surprised that an American would be working for a British organization. He had expected somebody who talked more like Dent.” He leaned back in his seat, folded his arms, and waited half a beat. “That was the fishy part, in case you missed it.”

“What's so strange about that? We're Americans. We work for them,” said Andrew. “There's no law that Wat— Ow!” He leaned down and vigorously rubbed his shin, glaring at Kennedy. She glared back, and Emmett just knew Andrew had nearly revealed something important. Oh, well, If he couldn't get it out of Andy later... Then it was really important to him, and he should let it go.

“Cool it, you two. Especially you,” he said to Kennedy. “No, the fishy part is that Travers was _not_ an American. He was as British as... as somebody that's really British.”

“Are you sure?” asked Emmett.

“Hell yeah, I'm sure. I met him. That SOB almost got a good friend of mine _and_ her mom killed, and he did get another good friend of mine fired. You better believe I remember him. Whoever it was Porter talked to, it wasn't the real Quentin Travers.”

“Shit,” said Kennedy, “so who do you think; Maddison or Auerbach? Me? I'm guessing Maddison.”

He shrugged. “If I have to guess right now, I'd say Maddison too; he seems more... It could've been somebody else too. Anyway, whoever it was told Porter that they'd tell Dent's family, and get back to him after everything was all fixed up over there. They also told Porter that Dent's affairs in England were 'complicated' and that it would take quite a while to work things out. So what with this, that, and almost dying, Porter just let it all slide. Then, around Christmas, he couldn't wait any longer—”

“And the real Travers was dead by then,” said Kennedy.

“Yup, so no surprise his number was out of service.”

“But...” said Emmett “couldn't he find _somebody_ over there to help him find Dent's family? I mean...”

Xander shook his head. “He tried for about three months. He called, he wrote, no answer. Maybe because nobody was left alive to get back to him, maybe because a dead Wa—”

Kennedy cleared her throat.

“—guy's landlord was pretty low on their list of things that needed dealt with, I don't know. Anyway, after a while he figured he wasn't going to hear from them, and he went to the apartment to see what shape it was in. Every last book in it had been cleared out.”

Andrew and Kennedy sighed with disappointment. “Why didn't he tell us that the first time we saw him?” Andrew said.

“Probably because we didn't ask. And it's a good thing we didn't because we would have just given up and gone home. Emmett here would be dead by now... Uh, sorry, Emmett.”

“Oh, don't mind _me_ ,” he said sickly. Nobody said anything. Andrew took his hand under the table, and squeezed it. He squeezed back.

Finally, Kennedy cleared her throat, and asked, “'Given up'?” with a put-on accent that hovered uncertainly between Central America and Eastern Europe. “What is this 'given up' you speak of? I know not these words.”

“That's the truth,” said Xander with a smothered grin. “No need to give up now anyway, 'but things are getting twisty. Yeah, yeah I know; like they weren't already. Now, whoever got in there did more that just swipe Dent's library. His mattress and every last cushion in the place had been cut open, all the drawers, cupboards and cabinets had been ransacked, and the TV and stereo had been taken apart. Not smashed; they were taken apart with a screwdriver. Porter told me he mentioned Dent's murder when the cops came 'round to take a look, and gave them Bowen's name. When he called them later they told him 'the investigation was ongoing,' but that they were done collecting evidence, and that he could do whatever he wanted with the apartment and the mess in it.

“Did he say whether they thought it was connected to the Dent case?” Kennedy asked intently. “They would've had to have talked with Simms... if they were doing their jobs at all.”

“He didn't say so, but I think they must've. Porter told me they figured some homeless junkie types got in a few months after the Dent murder and trashed the place for fun and profit over the next few months. I figure they read Reikert's half-assed theory about the dead bum, and they jumped to the next reasonable explanation. I mean, if the murderer died in March, there's no way he'd be breaking into apartments in May.”

Andrew nodded wisely. “After Porter had his heart attack.”

Everybody was silent for a long moment, then Xander spoke. “Shit, that didn't even occur to me. And it fits, too.”

“You think they tried to kill this Porter too? With poison, maybe?” asked Emmett.

“Maybe...” Xander looked thoughtful.

“I don't think so,” Andrew broke in, “not exactly. Poison, maybe, yeah, but not killing _per se_. I mean, just getting him out of the way would be enough, right? If he died so soon after Dent was murdered, somebody might have gotten suspicious. Oh! And then they would have had whoever inherited the property from Porter to deal with! No, I think our bad guys just wanted to make sure he stayed out of their way until they were done, and they didn't care what he did after that.”

“Sure, yeah, that works,” said Kennedy. The others agreed.

Xander continued. “And notice how they waited to get on with the main ransackage until after the police'd had plenty of time to finish looking the apartment over. This is how I figure it: the murderers got Dent's keys when they killed him. Then they used them to get into the apartment, and start in on the library.”

“So why didn't they take all the books right away?” Andrew asked. “They could have just rented a U-haul and loaded them all up. It only would have taken a day or so.”

“Oh sure,” scoffed Kennedy, “'cause nobody would have noticed that.”

Xander nodded. “And I also think the killers thought they had more time. They didn't expect the late Mr. Dent to turn up again so soon, remember? So they were real slow and careful. I bet they grabbed the most, uh, valuable-looking books first, and then when Dent's body was found by those barge guys, they probably got out of the apartment first thing. After they'd intercepted Porter's call to Travers, and the cops were done checking the place for evidence, Porter had his heart attack. Then they went back, stole the rest of the library, and trashed the place. Porter thought it was funny that the so-called junkie vandals didn't leave a... Well, a dirtier mess, but... since the cops didn't think they had anything to do with Dent's murder, Porter couldn't find Dent's heirs, and there wasn't any description of the missing items beyond 'rare old books and some furniture—',”

“The wardrobe?” asked Emmett.

“The wardrobe. Porter remembered it being there when he let the cops in right after Dent was identified. I asked. Anyway,” Xander shrugged, “what could he do? He hired a cleaning crew, fixed the place up, and had it rented out again by April.” He sat back, looking rather smug.

“I don't see why this makes you so happy,” said Kennedy, “It's pretty obvious the bad guys got our books. Goddess knows what they've been doing with them.”

“How so?” Xander asked.

“Well, they're gone, aren't they?”

“Yes, the books that were on his shelves are all gone. So what were the so-called junkie vandals looking for?”

“Shelter, money, and a place to get high,” she snapped. “What do you think? The rest of Dent's books, of course. The ones that _really_ matter. Umm...” She glanced at Emmett, and then Andrew. Out of the corner of his eye, Emmett could see Andrew sneering back at her. He didn't, however, return the kick in the shin she'd given him earlier.

“Yup,” said Xander, “them, or some sort of clue where Dent hid them. Porter gave me a copy of the report the cleanup company wrote up for him and the insurance company. The beds and all the upholstered furniture were a dead loss; all torn to pieces. I'll go over it again later but it looked to me like they got into every single place they could think of that could've had even a slip of paper hidden in it. You know what they say: you always find what you're looking for in the last place? There wasn't a last place. Oh, and get this, I called home and had them check out the Inspection Office's billing records to see when the last time someone bought a copy of his floor plan was. February 26th, and whoever it was used Dent's ID. and credit card.”

“Bastards,” muttered Kennedy.

“You got that right. They were probably checking to make sure he hadn't built a secret room, or anything like that too.”

“Well, if he'd built a secret room, he wouldn't put it on record at City Hall, would he?” Emmett said

“It's illegal not to. 'Course if I were building a secret room that wouldn't stop me, 'cause hey, secret, but it's harder to do than you might think. All anyone has to do to find a new hidden room is compare the official floor plans with the actual apartment. A few measurements will do it if it's big enough. That's probably what they wanted the blueprints for.”

“What if it isn't big enough?” Emmett asked.

“Bang on the walls with a hammer until you find a place that sounds different. The clean-up report said they did that too, by the way. Knocked quite a few holes in—”

A plate plunked down in front of Emmett.

“ _Penne alla cardinale—_ I startle you? Ach _,_ sorry. It is all _farchadat_ in here; we're so busy.”

They hadn't even noticed the waitress bringing their orders out. She took a short eternity to pass the plates, refilled their water glasses, and wished them a good meal, and left them to it.

“Why didn't they just take the wardrobe apart too?” Andrew slouched over his _melanzana al forno,_ picked at it with a fork suspiciously. “Hey, I can't eat this. I'm allergic to pine nuts. Why didn't you guys tell me this had pine nuts?”

“If you didn't know what was in it, why did you order it?” Kennedy asked.

“The menu just said eggplant and cheese,” he said with a woebegone look.

“Swap you for my penne. I love pine nuts,” she said.

He brightened at that. “OK.”

They traded plates and started eating.

After about ten minutes of chewing and muttered requests to pass this or that Andrew said, “Why did they steal it? How did they know it might be a clue?”

Kennedy swallowed her mouthful of eggplant. “Maybe they don't know it's a clue. Maybe they just took it because they liked it.”

“Yeah,” said Xander wistfully. “Phil said it was a beautiful piece of furniture. One of a kind too.”

“Well, _I_ thought it looked very nice,” said Emmett. “Maybe they settled.”

Xander fidgeted with his fork. “Maybe.”

“You don't think so though, do you.”

“Um...”

“You are a terrible liar, you know. Why do you think they took it?”

He sighed. “Willow and Giles have a theory, and no, I can't tell you what it is. So don't ask.”

Emmett put down his fork next to his plate slowly and precisely, and looked him in the eye. “I'm not a mushroom. I'm getting tired of being kept in the dark and fed you-know-what. I want the truth.”

“And I can't tell you the truth.” Xander gazed back unflinchingly.

Emmett, overcome by a sudden wave of exasperation, pushed his plate away, and turned to get up. He was stopped by Andrew's hand on his shoulder, and even more by his beseeching face. “That's it! You've found out all I know. You guys don't need me any more. I'm going home.”

“We need to know you're safe,” said Xander.

Kennedy added, “If you take one step toward that door, I will drag you back like a stray kitty cat.” Emmett didn't think she was joking.

“Please,” was all Andrew said.

“…I'm going to find out, you know,” he finally said, and settled back in his seat.

“If you can figure it out, you deserve to know,” Xander said. Emmett thought he heard him mutter, “And God help you,” but he couldn't be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN In my head-canon, Emmett watches _Romeo and Juliet_ whenever a new interpretation comes along because he keeps hoping THIS time it'll turn out different. He's a romantic like that.


	21. Quis Custodiet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emmett can't phone home, and the gang fails to avoid research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a longish chapter, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway. Questions and comments are welcome!

They got back to the hotel shortly after 8:00. Kennedy pounced on the phone to call Willow before Xander had even started taking his shoes and socks off at the door. “I have to see if everything's set up yet,” she said.

“This won't take long, will it?” Emmett asked as he hung up his coat and muffler. “I need to call Debbie and let her know I won't be home tonight either.”

“That reminds me,” said Kennedy, “we ought to make sure nobody's got her phone tapped too.”

Too? Xander wondered what she meant by that, but Kennedy spoke again before he had time to ask.

“What's her number? In fact, here,” Kennedy handed him the hotel notepad, “write down _all_ your friend's numbers. Don't argue. If you call the wrong person, and the bad guys trace you back here, you're dead—and so are we.”

Emmett rolled his eyes. “Oh, all right.” He wrote a few of the numbers from memory, and then started to flip through the hotel's phone book.

“Hello, Sweetie! Are Buffy and Giles ready?” She motioned to Xander for a pen and a slip of the notepaper. “Yeah. Good old 'Grand-dad.' OK, country code is four, four, and the local code is one, two—does he have to dial '0' in front of that? No? OK, two, seven...” Her voice trailed off into a mutter as she continued to scribble. “OK, I'll tell them.” She took the receiver away from her ear. “Are you done yet?” she asked Emmett. He handed her his list. “Uh, Baby, before we do this, Emmett wants to call home, and we need to know if it's safe. Yeah, OK. The first number up is Debbie Novotny...”

To Emmett's obvious consternation, Debbie's phone was bugged, as were Melanie and Lindsay's, and Ted's. Both Michael's home and work numbers were bugged, and so were Brian's.

“That's Ted's work number too.” Emmett was clearly disappointed.

“I thought you broke up with him.” Was Andrew pouting?

“Listen young man,” said Emmett, “just because you are no longer doing the horizontal mambo with somebody does _not_ mean you can't ever speak to them again. Teddy and I were friends long before we started fucking and we're still friends now.”

“But… I thought... I mean, Willow said—”

“What about that diner, the one I ate at day before yesterday?” Xander broke in before Andrew could repeat what they'd learned about the ugly details of the Honeycutt-Schmidt breakup. He didn't think Emmett would appreciate them talking about _that_ at all.

The Liberty Diner was bugged too.

Emmett began to rack his brains for friends of more friends, places and even acquaintances he might be able to call. Rodney's apartment? Ben's office? Bugged. Carl Horvath's home phone? Kennedy shook her head and said Willow had already told her it was bugged earlier that day. Babylon? Woody's Bar? The gym? All of them were being monitored. Even Justin's friend Daphne's phone was tapped.

“And I hardly know her! I only thought I'd try her number because Justin's _supposed_ to live there. This has got to be some kind of a mistake. I mean, who would bug Daphne Chanders just so he can find me? That makes no sense at all. Your friend must be reading something wrong.”

Xander shook his head. “Willow's not wrong about stuff like this. If she says those people's phones are tapped, they're tapped. Kennedy, can I talk to her for a sec?”

“Oh, why not?” she said, somewhat crossly. She gave him the handset and flopped backward on Andrew's bed.

“Hey there, Witchy Woman,” said Xander.

“ _Wha—oh! Hey! Hi, Xander! What's up_?”

“Nothin' much. I just wanted to know about all these taps. It sounds like they've got a small army over here. What kind of manpower would all this take?”

“ _Do_ _**we** _ _have a small army over there? I think not_.”

“Hey, you're worth a small army; what with the...”

He glanced over at Emmett.

“And the... and the.. the... you know. If the bad guys had a Willow, Dent's books would be loooong gone. How hard would it be for regular—well, non-Willow-type people to do all this?”

“ _Why Xander, you know just how to flatter a girl. OK, without using magic—and they're not, and maybe not so much 'mad hacking skillz'? It'd take longer, but it wouldn't be that hard, really. You'd need some people to actually go into the access tunnels—_ ”

“Tunnels?”

“ _Yeah. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?_ ”

“Way ahead of you. And then?”

“ _They'd find the trunks and tap into the right phone lines—that could take a while. After that, the baddies could automate the whole thing if they had a recording of Emmett and the right voice recognition software... And enough computer power. You wouldn't even need a Cray to do it any more. A Beowulf cluster could monitor every telephone in Pennsylvania, if it was big enough._ ”

A what? "Uh-huh? How hard would that be to put together? Would it take any special equipment? Can we get a handle on them that way?"

“ _No, you could use some regular computers, and they wouldn't have to be expensive or 'specially new either. Getting the software right's the hardest part. But set-up? It's a piece of cake—if you know what you're doing._ ”

“Or you know somebody who does.”

“ _Or that._

"OK then. So they've bugged every phone in Pittsburgh that he has any reason to call. I bet they're even tapping people we haven't thought of yet.” He turned to Emmett. “Hey, do you want to try anybody in your hometown? There might be somebody—”

“No!” Emmett snapped.

Xander looked at him, blinking. “Uh, OK.”

“ _I really don't think he'll like that idea, Xander,_ ” Willow said softly.

“Uh, no. Guess not. OK, so all phones are _verboten_ for Emmett.”

“ _Yup,_ ” she said. “ _And there might be some more of the fang gang hanging around where they think he's most likely to show up. I wonder why they didn't make another try at that party thing last night._ "

Xander shrugged before remembering that she couldn't actually see him. "Too many people. It was a huge deal. Security guys, paparazzi and fans all over the place. Remind me to never become important."

“ _Too late._ ”

“Hey! What's that supposed to mean?”

She laughed softly. “ _Don't ever change, OK?_ ”

“Uh, yeah...” He glanced over at Emmett, who'd been following Xander's half of the conversation with great interest. “It's a good thing he hadn't called anybody from here, or they'd've got us. They really want him bad.”

“I called Debbie last night. From here,” Emmett pointed out.

“Shit! Willow? I forgot; he called Debbie Novotny from here last night. Are we clean?”

“ _Oh!_ ”

Xander could hear Willow's quick breath and the distant sounds of her fingers on the keyboard, and then a sigh of relief.

“ _No, nothing on your end. He called last night? Well... Setting all those wiretaps up took time. Nobody would want to do that unless it looked like there wasn't an easier way... And as far as they knew then, they could just grab him when he went home. They only would have started tapping everybody_ _**after** _ _they realized that he'd disappeared and so had those minions they sent out after him._ ”

He looked over at Emmett. “Willow says we're good.”

Andrew, who had been frowning abstractedly, asked, “Wait, did you use your cell last night, or the hotel one?”

“Oh?” thought Xander. He had been wishing he had one lately. “You have a cell phone?” he asked. “What kind—”

“ _What!_ ” shrieked Willow. He jumped at the sudden increase in volume and held the handset away from his ear. She went on shouting “ _Turn it off! Turn it off and get out right now!_ ”

“It's dead,” Emmett yelled back. “I was _just_ about to say it died yesterday while I was running around getting ready for the party. I can hear you from here, you know. I'm not deaf.”

“But now I am,” said Xander, rubbing at his ear. “And can I say 'perforated eardrum'? Ow!”

“ _Oh! Sorry! I'm sorry. Um... Um..._ ”

“Willow, it's OK. Just calm down. No more yelling.”

“ _I'm sorry. I got all excited. If the bad guys lock onto the GPS, a cell phone is like a homing beacon for as long as it has power._ ”

“Willow, it doesn't matter, it's been dead since yesterday, and they still haven't showed up yet. Even if they are trying to track it, they started too late, and now we know not to turn it on. So just relax, OK?”

“ _Oh, OK. I'm relaxed now._ ” She drew in a deep breath, and blew it out. “ _This is me. All relaxed. Relaxing. Whoooooo..._ ”

“Good. OK, well, that's all I needed to know.” Kennedy cleared her throat. “Aaaand I'm passing the phone back. Bye, now.”

“ _Bye!_ ” Willow whispered in his ear.

Kennedy took the receiver eagerly. “Gee, now, ain't that a kick in the butt. “Yeah, I'm glad I thought of it too... Really don't like those guys… Sweetie it just occurred to me; when I call Simms? How— ...Oh, really? Where? ...” She snickered softly. “Oh, Baby, you are just eeeevil... Of course I mean that in a good way. Yeah, I'm ready.” She picked up the notepad. “Five, five, five, two, seven, seven, three. Got it. OK, we'll wait... Love you too... 'Bye.” She hung up the phone and said, “Willow wants us to stay here so they can call after Giles is done with Simms and let us know how it went.”

Xander stretched. “Fine with me. I need a break.”

“You mean we're just going to stay here and do nothing?” Emmett asked. “It's not even nine o'clock yet.”

“No, not 'do nothing'.” He sighed. “We've got all these papers we need to start going over.”

“I meant fun. Going over papers isn't fun.”

“What would you have us do? They're almost certainly watching your home, and they're probably watching your hangouts too, now.”

“Oh, really? Why weren't they at the gym this morning?” said Emmett. “That's one of my usual hangouts. I go there almost every day.”

“But would you be dumb enough to go there now that you know it's dangerous?” Kennedy asked.

“What!” He turned to her. “You were the one who said it'd be safe!”

“See? Here you are. Safe.” She shrugged.

Emmett was quiet a moment, his eyes narrowed as if he'd suddenly been struck by a thought. “What happened to those guys?”

“What guys,” she asked.

“The ones that tried to kidnap me yesterday morning. What happened to them?”

They looked at each other

“Er... They're gone,” said Xander.

“Uh-huh, and just _where_ did they go?”

“I dunno.” Xander shrugged. Well technically speaking, he didn't 'know.' Suspecting somebody wound up in Hell wasn't the same as 'knowing' it.

“You don't seem worried that they told their boss about you-all.”

“No,” said Xander. “They— they ran away.”

“I see.” Emmett didn't really look as if he was buying it, but he only said. “As long as you're sure.”

“Oh, yeah. I'm sure,” said Xander, doing his best to sound positive and sincere.

“Xander?” asked Kennedy, nodding at the telephone handset she was holding up in her left hand.

“Yeah, I know. 'Shut up'.”

They all watched as Kennedy dialed the number Willow had given her. “Hullo, Detective? This is Antonia Dvorak. My friend said you wanted me to call you... No, I'm sorry, I really can't tell you any more than... Yes, I've told Grandfather. He's _most_ eager to speak with you...”

****************************************

After Kennedy had finished giving the detective her 'grandfather's' telephone number, Xander suggested they should get started on the paperwork again. Andrew was able to delay that by pointing out that they could get Netflix, and he wanted to watch the next _Farscape_. Emmett had never heard of it, but if it put off him having to take a closer look at those horrible photographs, he was all for it. Apparently, he wasn't the only one.

“You? Watching _Farscape_? Gasp!” Kennedy had said over-dramatically. “I thought you said it didn't hold a candle to _Voyager_.” Obviously, this was part of some long-standing disagreement between the two of them.

“It doesn't. But it's still a good show.”

“Ah, little one,” she leered at him. “I will bring you over to the dark side yet. Soon you will forsake your false idol Captain Janeway and bow before the hotness that is Aeryn Sun! Aaaah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“Never!” proclaimed Andrew. “Xander, back me up here?”

Xander shrugged. “Hey, don't look at me. I'm Switzerland. Besides, where's the love for Susan Ivanova? Hm? Hey, we don't have any popcorn.”

"Popcorn! Please,” said Emmett. “After that huge meal? I'm going to be waddling for a week.”

“Oh? Are you saying we need to go in for 'therapy' tomorrow?” asked Kennedy.

“No!” “Oh, no.” “No therapy on Sunday!” rang from the three men.

She grinned. “Just checking. Emmett, what do you want to watch?”

She was asking _him_ ? “I don't know; I _never_ stay in on Saturday nights. Is _Farscape_ good?”

She stared at him. “Is it good? It it good! Are you kidding? It's got everything: friendship, torture, humor, revenge, aliens, monsters, chases, treachery, escapes, space battles, love, hate, problems, solutions, tough chicks in leather... ”

“It doesn't sound _too_ bad. I'll try to stay awake.” Xander said in a blasé tone, and inexplicably snickered.

Emmett stared at him, disconcerted. “No thanks; I think I'll pass on the 'tough chicks in leather'.”

“Oh, but what about the hot _guys_ in leather?” she asked.

He had to admit that sounded interesting... Actually, it was quite intriguing—and confusing. He tried to get the backstory during the scene breaks, but there was never enough time because Kennedy and Andrew constantly interrupted each other, causing their explanations to lurch around in lopsided, bickering circles. He almost felt sorry for Xander until about halfway through the program when the telephone rang, and he had to take it into the other room.

****************************************

Xander pushed the door shut behind him with his hip and took away his hand from where he'd been blocking the TV's noise from the phone's mouthpiece. “Whew! Finally.”

“ _Is everything all right, Xander?_ ” Giles asked.

“Yeah, it's just Kennedy and Andrew watching _Farscape_ together.”

“ _Ah! Say no more. I'll let you get back to your show—_ ”

“Not on your life.”

Giles laughed softly. “ _Zarrah told us you'd called earlier._ ”

“Sorry, Willow was on the phone with somebody, and I needed a little 'job' done right then.”

“ _I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to ask you to_ _leave_ _the lawbreaking_ _for_ _the adults?_ ”

“Considering that Willow's the one that issues our 'Jr. Ms Hacker' badges? Pretty much. She did really good, Giles. She tell you what we found?”

“ _That somebody used Phillip Dent's own credit cards to purchase copies of his apartment's plans about the time his body went into the Monongahela River? Yes, she told me. Pity they didn't have the blueprints on computer file._ ”

“Yeah, well... I'll get them Monday, I guess. Porter gave me the rough sketches Dent gave him. They'll do for now. And anyway, the bad guys had the real ones and it's pretty obvious they didn't help them find anything.”

“ _That's what it looks like from here. We've been looking over the cleaner's report._ ” He sighed. “ _This case has generated an astounding amount of paperwork. What with that and the other things I've had to deal with today, I've barely been able to get started on the_ _ogham_ _translation. With any luck, I'll have it for you tomorrow._ ”

“Hey, don't apologize. We're lucky you even know Goiter.”

Giles emitted a startled guffaw, which he quickly choked down to a sputter.

“Oh… not Goiter?” Now that he thought of it, hadn't it been a longer word?

It took Giles a moment to wrestle himself to his usual sobriety. “ _Er, no._ _Goidelic_ _,_ ” he finally said. “ _A 'goiter' is an enlarged thyroid gland._ ”

“Oh.” Oops. Oh, well. He'd sounded like he needed the laugh anyway. “How did it go with Simms?”

“ _Fairly well, I think. I couldn't be completely candid, of course._ ”

“I'd have loved to have seen his face if you had.” Xander snickered. “Oh, well, It's not a secret demon-fighting society if you tell everybody about it. So what _did_ you say?”

“ _I told him that the two of us had worked for an insurance firm in London. That was the Council's cover there at the building Caleb blew up. All very dull and prosaic and_ _ **non**_ _-supernatural. Somebody tried to trace his call again, and—_ ”

“What? What do you mean 'again'?”

“ _Didn't Kennedy tell you? Somebody tried to trace Simm's call back to 'Antonia Dvorak's message service' with magic this morning. Willow detected it and stopped whoever it was before they could get very far, but she decided it'd be safer to route Kennedy's_ _response_ _through the Pittsburgh City Dump's telephone number this evening._ ”

“Oh, so that's what that business was... No, Kennedy didn't tell me. Did they try to trace Simm's call to you too?”

“ _Yes. Both magically and through conventional means. It didn't get them anywhere near where they need to be, though._ ” Giles laughed softly. “ _I imagine it's a great source of frustration for them._ ”

“Ha! I bet it is. OK, so we're still under cover, and you told Simms Dent was in the insurance biz. And?”

“ _Then he asked me whether I could put him in touch with Dent's family._ ”

“Oh! Could you?”

“ _No, not as such. Dent didn't have any family left. Oddly enough, I was as closely related to him as anybody living._ ”

“ _You_ were?”

“ _Not surprising, really. Watcher_ _families_ _have frequently inter-married. Saves on awkward explanations, as you might imagine. As near as I've been able to calculate, Dent was a fifth cousin to me on my mother's side of the family, and a sixth cousin on my father's. The only other remaining relative nearly as close to him is that colossal prat Wyndam-Pryce._ ”

“Whoah! That's pretty harsh. Wes wasn't _that_ bad.”

“ _Not Wesley. Roger. Wesley's father._ ”

“Oh. Haven't had the pleasure.”

“ _'Pleasure' has nothing to do with it. I've been getting to know him through our efforts at rebuilding the council. Appalling man. If I'd known him when Wesley first came to Sunnydale, I might have been more inclined to be_ _sympathetic_ _—that, or shoot him on sight._ ”

Xander returned to the point. “So Dent was family? That's...” He didn't know what to say.

“ _Nothing to concern yourself about, Xander. I'd never met him, didn't know him, had no idea we were even related until this morning. The only thing I knew about Dent was that he had a truly formidable reputation as an occultist, and—_ ”

“A what?”

“ _A magician._ ”

“So, he was a heavy hitter for the pointy-hat-and-wand brigade, not just an egghead?”

“ _Er…_ _Yes._ ”

“Oh, OK, sure. Makes sense the council would send one of their big guns to watch a hellmouth.”

“ _Not necessarily,_ ” Giles said sourly.

Belatedly, Xander remembered that Giles' own posting had probably been more meant as an exile than a reward—just another example of the council doing the right thing all bass-ackward. “No false modesty now, Giles old bean,” he said in his best stuffy-British-colonel voice. He was trying to sound like the old RAF rooster in _Chicken Run_. “You're as heavy a hitter as anybody I know. What, what?”

“ _You flatter me. Do me a favour and save that atrocious accent for when I can't hear it._ ”

“No good?”

“ _No._ ”

“Maybe I need more practice?”

“ _No. I beg of you, no._ ” Now that sounded like the Giles he was used to.

“So… What else you can tell me about him? Anything could be a clue where he hid the goods; I'm groping in the dark here.”

“ _Well, there's a bit more... According to Craye, Dent's family were Watchers since Noah's flood. Even longer than mine. Very wealthy lot. Craye had heard rumours that they weren't always above using their connections and abilities to... er... enhance their financial status_.”

“Uh-huh. And he just went into the family business?”

“ _No, not at first. His older sister was the one who chose to join the Watchers. Dent was more interested in the sciences._ ”

“What changed his mind?”

“ _Well, he was off doing a_ _PhD_ _in mathematics at Cambridge when the rest of his family were slaughtered in an 'accident'._ ”

“One of those 'accidents' that Watchers have from time to time?”

“ _Yes. After that, he dropped out of the programme and signed on with the council. Craye said he was almost thirty by then and he had to 'work like a bugger' to catch up to the rest of them._ ”

“He must have studied pretty damn hard to get the kind of rep you're telling me he had.”

“ _It's not like he wasn't used to it, and one doesn't get into a Cambridge University post-graduate programme by being a dullard. His parents probably taught him a thing or two before he went for the maths degree too. I doubt he began his study of magic totally blind. Let me see, what else... According to Craye, most people who knew him didn't think he had any sense of humour, but 'his close friends were rumoured to think far otherwise.' I suppose that means he was one of these fellows who liked to make obscure jokes. Oh, and he re-confirmed that Dent collected magic lore and_ _artifacts._ _Spent quite a large fraction his own fortune on them, Craye said._ ”

“So… He was a kind of super-genius magician with lots of money, and he liked weird jokes and fine woodwork... Speaking of which? What Porter said today pretty much confirms the killers took Dent's wardrobe. It looks like you and Willow may be right about it being magicked somehow.”

“ _Hardly a difficult_ _hypothesis_ _to arrive at, given Dent's reputation and his specificity about the construction and the types of wood that were used. To be effective for magic, symbolism requires scrupulous exactitude._ ”

“Uh… yeah. Were you guys able to look up that list for me, then?”

“ _Oh, yes. I have it right here. It's rather extensive; do you have a notepaper and pen handy?_ ”

Xander hooked a chair with his ankle, pulled it up to the desk and sat. He leaned his left elbow on the hotel notepad to steady it, and picked up a pen. “Ready. Lay 'em on me.”

“ _All right... OK...”_

Xander heard the sound of rustling papers as Giles looked for the one he needed.

“ _Right, here we are. According to Willow, many systems of magic use various kinds of wood in spells… Since the writing on the wardrobe is of Celtic origin, it seemed_ _reasonable_ _to assume that the symbolic meaning of each wood would most likely be based on Celtic or Druidic lore... That still left a lot of ground to cover, so we tried to sift out the most common and likely_ _magical_ _uses Dent could have put them to._ ”

“I guess that sounds reasonable. OK, so the wardrobe was made of red oak; lets start with that.”

“ _Right then._ ” Giles spoke more slowly to give Xander time to take notes. “ _Willow thinks—and I agree that Dent would have most likely used the red oak to energize his spell, whatever it was, the brown oak to anchor it to the wardrobe, and the elm for stability. Elm may be used for psychic protection and/or communication as well._ ”

“...Elm, stabilize spell, protection, communication... Got it. Communication with what?”

“ _Other watchers, spirits... I can only make vague guesses, really, but those are other properties associated with elm wood. Ash, now, has many interesting protective properties when used correctly: protection from drowning, sickness, poisonous snakes, evil people and—you'll like this one—vampires._ ”

“Ha! I _do_ like it. I knew there was a reason I liked my old baseball bat so much.”

“ _Right, right. Moving along; poplar is associated with wind, speech and language, and can be used in spells for successful journeys or transformations. Yew is suitable for spells to summon the spirits of the dead for guidance and knowledge. Rowan, on the other hand, is useful for repelling said spirits, particularly evil ones. Quite a conundrum, actually. Can't imagine what Dent was about with that. However,_ _rowan_ _can also be used for divination, protection or enhancement of psychic powers, so perhaps he intended to symbolize one of those aspects. Beech wood is useful for spells for seeking information and wisdom, particularly old wisdom. I think you can see the application if he used this wardrobe to hide his books in some way._ ”

“Oh, yeah. You don't have to tell me twice.”

“ _I didn't think I would. Holly, now, is closely associated with fire and forging. It's thought to be especially good for magic intended to destroy old things and make or re-make new ones. Apple wood is supposed to be suitable for spells to do with travel and opening doorways into the 'Faerie realm'—which I take to mean other dimensions—either physically or psychically. Hazel wood is very good for divination—Have you heard of dowsing rods?_ ”

“You mean those things people use for finding water and stuff?”

“ _Yes, them. Traditionally, they're made of hazel. Well, sometimes rowan wood, but usually hazel. And finally, fir is good for magic that requires flexibility such as shapeshifting or other kinds of changes. It's also supposed to drive away evil, like many of the other kinds of wood I listed already._ ”

“So… if Dent had this wardrobe made for sticking some kind of spell to, do you think that would be hard to notice? I mean, some people are sensitive to stuff like that...” embarrassed, he trailed off.

“ _Oh, yes. Absolutely. Especially since none of the woods the wardrobe is made of is known for concealing magic._ ”

“And what kind of wood is supposed to be good for that?”

“ _Hawthorn. In some accounts of Druidic lore, it can be used for either detecting magic or hiding it._ ”

“Huh. I've never worked with that. I don't think I've ever even seen any.”

“ _It's not very common, but Willow was able to find some sources in a Google search. According to what she found, hawthorn has very hard wood; good for making small items—combs and handles and such—and veneers, but it's not used for lumber because it tends to be… shrubby?_ ”

“The trunks aren't big enough to make large pieces,” Xander explained.

“ _Ah. She also says that cutting down a hawthorn tree in the wrong way or for a wrong reason was considered unlucky. When used for magical purposes,_ _hawthorn_ _must be cut on_ _Beltane._ ”

“What?”

“ _May first, also called May Day. It was one of the major holy days of the Druids._ ”

“Oh! Is that why people say 'mayday' when they need help? No, that doesn't make sense...”

Giles coughed. “ _That particular phrase is French, actually. 'M'aidez' means 'help me'._ ”

“Oh… Why do we say it in French? Can't we all just use English?”

“ _Well, when the—no. You can find that out for yourself, if you're interested enough. Now, lets get back to the topic, shall we? Hawthorn wood can, with the appropriate ritual, be used to conceal magic, but none was used to make this wardrobe._ ”

“Hmm… So basically, what you're saying is that if Dent had it made for some kind of magic spell, anybody—”

“ _Or any_ _ **thing**_ _._ ”

“Or any _thing_ sensitive to magic would notice it.”

“ _Most probably, yes. Just as they would have been able to detect the presence of any other enchanted objects in his home._ ”

“Such as magic books.”

“ _Only enchanted ones. Unfortunately, the more dangerous the magic, the more likely the book containing it is to be enchanted. For protection, if nothing else._ ”

“Yeah, OK. Have you ever used wood for magic like this?”

“ _Only for making wands or in fires._ ” He cleared his throat. “ _Generally I've found it to be a wise policy to avoid magic whenever I can._ ”

“I hear that. No magic for Xander. Xander Harris is a magic-free zone.”

“ _That's probably wise. You haven't had much luck with it, have you?_ ”

“Well, not _usually_...” Perhaps now was the time to mention what happened to Lyle? But it was probably just a fluke; he didn't want to worry him...”

Giles spoke before he could decide. “ _Unfortunately, we have not had similar luck in researching the mandala, or whatever it is._ ”

“Yeah. Andrew said you guys thought it might be some kind of pentagram, but it wasn't.”

“ _No. I'm afraid we've reached a standstill there. We've turned up examples of magical symbols that have some general similarities, but none that are very close. I'm afraid it's something Dent came up with himself, and if that's the case heaven only knows what it was supposed to mean now that he's dead and his records have been destroyed._ ”

“Well… He studied to be a mathematician. Maybe it's some kind of math thing.”

“ _Hm. Doesn't seem likely... But at this point we're ready to try anything. I'll float it by Willow, and we'll see what she can come up with while I'm working on the translation tomorrow._ ”

“OK, sounds good.” Xander sighed. “You don't think the bad guys have been able to figure it out?”

“ _No…_ _I wouldn't think so, not if Maddison's our villain. Everything we've turned up indicates that he is still completely dependent on the charity of his friend. That's not how... How..._ ”

“Not how somebody who'd kill for money would choose to live.”

“ _No. I suspect, given that all Dent's books were stolen, that somehow Maddison, at least, found out about him and saw the chance to get his_ _knowledge_ _for himself._ ”

“Ditto, ditto. It sure would be useful to figure out where and how that could have happened.”

“ _As quickly as you've been able to trace out events so far... Well, I shouldn't be surprised if you get the answer to that tonight._ ”

“Ha. I've had some lucky breaks, is all. Now it's treading-water time.” He sighed. “I'd give a lot to know how much the bad guys know about us—the Watcher's Council, I mean. Somebody pretended to be Quentin Travers, but did he have an American accent because they didn't _know_ Travers was British, or because they had no choice? Just who did they think they were pretending to be? Plus, how much magic do they know already? And are they working _with_ the vampires that killed Dent and tried to kidnap Emmett, or is it some other kind of deal?”

“ _When we find them, we must be sure to ask,_ ” Giles said, grimly.

****************************************

Xander finally came back in from Kennedy's room during the last discordant wail of the _Farscape_ end credits. Emmett thought that that wasn't a coincidence.

Andrew grinned at Emmett. “So what did you think?”

“That was probably the strangest thing I've ever seen on TV. Is it always like that?”

“Well, usually it's more straightforward than that,” said Kennedy. “But you could see what was happening at the end, right?”

“Kind of.” He shrugged. “You know, when you said it had all those things? I didn't think you meant in _one_ episode.”

“That one's pretty intense,” she said. “And it's kind of hard to understand if you haven't seen the earlier ones. Did you like it?”

“Well... I wouldn't mind watching some more. That policeman with the red pumps... Rowr! I don't usually go for beards like that, but he had a kind of 'Village People' thing going on.” Emmett always had liked a man in uniform.

“Crais? Uh... you do realize he's not really a policeman, right? That was part of the hallucination.”

“I guessed that. So, he's one of the bad guys?”

“Yes.” “Kind of.” “Not really.” They chorused, and looked at each other. “He's kind of… complicated.” Kennedy said at last.

“Like Spike?” Emmett asked, watching Xander's face closely.

“Uh... yeah,” he said, and then he picked up some folders from the desk where they had been stacked next to the TV. “So, paperwork, anybody? We should probably go over the autopsies and police reports to start with.”

“No thanks,” said Emmett. “I already said I don't want to see any of that. Besides, I don't even know what I'd be looking for.”

Xander nodded. “Fair enough. How about you take all the old news articles and gossip columns about Maddison and Auerbach? You're more plugged into the local scene than we are anyway.”

Now that, he could do. “All right. What do you need me to look for?”

“Just note down anything you think is unusual or anything else you remember, no matter how off-the-wall it seems. Don't worry about missing anything; we're not sure what we're looking for yet, and we're all probably going to wind up going over them again anyway.”

“I have to go for my 'walk',” said Kennedy, “but I can start looking some stuff over when I get back. Dibs on the Kemp autopsy. I haven't had a chance to match it against Horvath's report yet.”

“You want the Reikert autopsy too?”

She shrugged. “Might as well. I already looked it over, but I want to compare it to Bowen's.”

“You still thinking there's a connection?”

“Haven't seen anything to rule it out. You?”

“Me either. It sure was convenient for _somebody_ that Bowen quit—”

“Oh, nuts! You know what we forgot? Bowen's wife's paperwork.”

Xander emitted a low whistle. “Damn. I should have thought of that first thing when you said Reikert got the case because of her accident. Something for tomorrow, then...” He looked oddly shifty. “Do you think the morgue will be open on Sunday?”

“Sure.” She shrugged. “Why wouldn't they be? It's not like people don't die on the weekends... The public offices will be closed, of course, but that's not a problem if Andrew still has that ID.”

“Which I do,” he said.

“I'll go with you tomorrow in case What's-her-name turns up again,” she said.

Andrew looked relieved. Xander nodded and said, “Sounds good. I'll stay here. I need to dig into the stuff I got from Phil and Porter some more. Emmett?”

“Oh, I don't know. Can I decide tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Right,” said Kennedy. “I'm going to the bathroom before I head out. I'll be back in an hour or so.” She ever-so-casually picked up the paper that Emmett had written his friend's numbers on from the desk, stuffed it into her jeans pocket, and headed for the door to her room.

“Where are you going with that?” asked Emmett.

“With what?”

“Don't play innocent with me, Missy. I saw you take that.”

She shrugged. “OK, If you must know, I'm going to get their addresses from Willow, and then I'm going to go and see if there are any suspicious types hanging around any of them.”

“I don't like that idea. That's a bad idea. It's not safe. Xander, tell her.”

Xander only looked up from the report he'd already spread out on the small table and raised an eyebrow at her inquiringly.

She shook her head and turned back to Emmett. "I'm not the one they're looking for; they'll never notice me. Besides, who saved your butt night before last? Don't worry. If I can't handle a little recon, it's time to turn in my kung-fu belt buckle and magic decoder ring.

She left a few minutes later. Xander blue-tacked Phil's drawings of the wardrobe doors to the wall on the other side of the room and stood looking at them as he rubbed his chin and muttered to himself. After a while, he unrolled the rest of Phil's drawings and stuck them up too. The narrow ones—they were about a handspan wide—stretched from the ceiling to the floor and two feet more. He had to stand on a chair to stick them up.

“What are those?” Andrew asked.

“The working drawings for the posts for Dent's bookshelves. These four,” he stepped back and pointed to the ones on the right, “were the ones he had installed right before he was murdered. The other fifteen were put in right after he rented the place...”

“He must have had very high ceilings,” said Emmett.

“Oh, yeah. Old building. 1905. No air conditioning then. High ceilings, heat goes up, more comfortable in summer...” He continued to look distracted as he piled Phil's documents alongside Porter's and turned the chair so he could sit with the table to his right. From time to time he got up to look up at the drawings as he went over the paperwork. He also took notes.

Having nothing better to do, Emmett sat down cross-legged on Andrew's bed and began to comb through the newspaper reports they'd turned up earlier. After a while, Andrew settled next to him with the print-outs of the files Willow had sent.

“Don't worry,” he whispered. “Nobody's going to bother Kennedy. Xander knows what he's doing.”

Emmett sighed. “I hope so. This is all just a nightmare. I want to go home.”

“Everything's going to be OK.” He looked down at the papers in his hand. “Do you know someplace called 'Thoth's Rede?' It keeps popping up on Maddison's credit card record.”

“Oh, now that just can't be legal.”

Andrew looked at him tiredly.

“All right. I think it's a head shop. One of my friends when I first came to Pittsburgh? He said that was _the_ place to buy bongs.” Emmett sighed with nostalgia. "The times have certainly changed."

“Thanks.” Andrew scribbled a note in the printout's margin.

They continued combing through the records, but if anything significant turned up, he wasn't able to tell. Kennedy came back about an hour later, much to his relief.

Xander glanced up from some photographs he was looking over as she hung up her coat by the door. “Anybody hinky?

“Yup, saw some guys outside of Babylon, Woody's and Debbie Novotny's house. The other places were clear, as far as I could tell.”

“Huh,” was all Xander said in response. He returned to his papers. Kennedy picked up the autopsy and police reports and sat down cross-legged on Xander's bed. Soon they were fanned out around her as she picked up various pages, compared them, put them back, and made notes in a notepad Emmett didn't remember seeing before.

“Did you buy that while you were out?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you tell the police about those guys you saw?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Did you... do anything to them?”

She looked at him, clearly irritated, and spun her pencil across her knuckles a few times. “Didn't lay a finger on them,” she finally said.

Silence descended again. After about half an hour, Emmett finally decided to take a bath and go to bed. If the next day was as boring as tonight, he was leaving.

****************************************

Kennedy looked up from her pile of reports as Xander came in from her room and gently closed the door. “Is he asleep?”

“He seems to be one of nature's night owls, but yeah, finally.” Xander smothered a yawn. “And I will be too, soon. I'm beat. Unlike some people, I didn't get a nap. That bar lock was a good idea, by the way.”

“I thought so,” she said smugly.

“Hinky guys?”

“Dusted. I kind of worried about that... All their minions keep disappearing. The dumbest vamp boss would be getting a clue by now... But I didn't want to leave them loose to bite other people.”

“Slayer's gotta slay.” Xander shrugged. “Besides, let 'em worry. They're going to be even more worried than that by the time we're done with them.”

“That suits me just fine. OK, note-checking time. How did it go?”

“Huh?”

“The call. You know, Simms and 'Granddad'?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. It went OK, they guess. Giles says somebody tried to trace Simms's calls with magic... He said Willow'd told you.” He looked at her accusingly.

“What?” asked Andrew.

“Oh! Yes, she did. Sorry. I couldn't tell you guys about it with Emmett breathing down our necks. You know, it would be so much easier if we could just tell him the truth without him running away screaming. This sneaking around... It's not good for coordinating our shit at all.”

“We might wind up doing that,” said Xander. “How much have we let him figure out already?”

“What's this ' _we_ ,' Paleface?” asked Kennedy. “You're the one who as good as told him what we're looking for—”

Andrew bristled. “Yeah? And _you're_ the one who told him how important those books are.”

“Children, children, let's not quarrel,” Xander began.

“'Quarrel' my ass,” she snapped. “One more slip like that, and he's going to know why we want them too.”

Xander coughed uneasily, remembering how Emmett had already started working on that question. “Look, we'll do our best, but it he finds out, he finds out. Keeping our secrets secret from him is not the most important thing we have to do in Pittsburgh, OK? And speaking of which, Giles and the gang have turned up a whole shitload of info about Dent and the wardrobe, so let's get started...”


	22. Questions and Answers (Part A)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some people want to talk about stuff, but other people don't.

Xander stretched luxuriously, working his head from side to side to ease the kinks out of his neck and shoulders, and returned to his scrutiny of the drawing of the bookshelf post he had been studying for the last half hour—or so. His eye moved back and forth between the sketches and the close-ups he had blue-tacked here and there, up and down alongside of it. Unfortunately, only a small fraction of the posts had been photographed, so he was only faintly able to guess at the full effect.

According to Phil, Dent had not been nearly as choosy when it came to the inlay on the posts, footboards and headboards. The only stipulation he'd made was that none of the woods be stained. After that, he hadn't cared what kind were used, so long as they were the right colors—which weren't hard to find in woodtones; the designs on the posts were all of autumn things: falling leaves, ripe and withered fruit on leafless branches and brambles. All of them were miniature, but distinct; there were glowing, red maple leaves, golden yellow ones that looked like fans and many others he'd seen before, but didn't know the names of. He recognized only a few of the kinds of wood from the photographs too: cherry, curly maple, pine, burled walnut... and the ubiquitous oak. He had no idea what most of them were, but some were gorgeous. Take that purpley-red one. He'd love to see what he could do with something like that, whatever it was. Phil would know. He'd have to ask him when he took the drawings and photos back.

Even with the plans and photos that Phil had given him and the blueprints he'd sneaked out and gotten from the Bureau of Building Inspections that morning, he was finding the setup hard to visualize. For some reason Dent had designed every post to be unique, but each group of five had some kind of theme tying them together... It was something visual; something he _should_ be able to see, but whatever it was seemed content to hang around his subconscious and whisper, 'Oh, Xander… Why can't you see this? Can't you figure it out?' It intrigued him. If he ever got a chance to get into Dent's apartment, he was going to take a good, long look at the real thing and see if he _could_ figure it out.

The sound of the door handle turning pulled him back to reality with a jerk; Kennedy was back.

“Hey! Are you going to keep on mooning over those for the rest of the day?” she asked, kicking off her shoes at the door. “I know you like that stuff, but yeesh!”

“Just taking a break,” he answered, a little sheepishly. “I've been looking at reports and reports and paperwork ever since we got back from breakfast.”

“Poor baby. You had a break when we went and did the tourist thing yesterday.”

“And yet it's not the same as being a free man.”

“My heart bleeds. Look, at least you know what's going on. Think of Emmett. He's six inches from stir-crazy, he has no idea why we won't just let him go, but do you see him complaining?”

“Yes. Why do you think we did 'the tourist thing?' And by the way, museums? Not my thing at all. Every time I ever went to one, something weird happened. Except yesterday.”

She shrugged. “I liked the mineral hall.”

“Diamonds are minerals, who'd've thunk?”

“Aw, will you knock it off about the diamonds... Where is Emmett, anway? And where's Andrew?”

“They went in your room so Andrew could give him a backrub. You were really hard on him this morning. You should be the one doing the massaging; you're the one that got him all sore in the first place.”

She stared at him for a moment like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. “Oh, I don't _think_ so,” she said.

“Well... Andrew does give good backrubs.” He looked at the brown paper bag in her hand. “So how'd it go?”

“Well, you can stop wondering why Maddison spent so much money at Thoth's Rede. They are most definitely not a head shop anymore.”

“Ah? I told you nobody needs thousands of dollars worth of bongs, roach clips and coke spoons. So _was_ it a front?”

“Oh, no.” She grinned. “Now they're Pittsburgh's premier New Age shop. They got a call while I was there? The guy must have been either stoned or stupid, 'cause the clerk kept telling him over and over, 'No, we do _not_ sell paraphernalia.'”

Xander could hear the irritated shop clerk in her voice. For a moment she sounded so much like Anya dealing with an obtuse customer.... He grinned at her and cocked an amused eyebrow. “There's more?”

“U-huh. 'No, we do not sell _anything_ that can be used for the ingestion of drugs; legal or illegal. We did that ten years ago, but now we don't. Now we sell candles, we sell incense, we sell crystals, we sell jewelry, we even sell books—'”

“Books?”

****************************************

Emmett, naked and face-down on his bed, stretched to the limit of his body; ankles flexing and extending over one end, hands waaayy up hanging over the head.

“So good...” he groaned.

“You like that?” Andrew asked, as he dug at the last stubborn knot of muscle in Emmett's left calf.

Emmett could feel it give way and relax under his skilled fingers. This young man was full of surprises. “Mm-hmm. Nooo, don't stop.”

“I have to. My hands are going to fall off. You're too tall! And you promised.”

Laughing, Emmett pulled the bedclothes over himself as he rolled onto his back. “Oh, eager, are we? Hmm? What's this?” He reached up to Andrew's face and cupped it in his palm. “Are you blushing? You are!”

Andrew slapped at his arm and blushed harder. “I am not...”

“Now, don't be like that. I always keep my promises.” He pushed himself up, letting the blankets fall away. “You need to take your shirt off first.”

Andrew, wide-eyed, asked, “Do I have to?”

“Well, you _could_ leave it on.” Emmett pouted. “But where's the fun for me? I took mine off for you.”

“That's different. You wanted to.”

“You don't?”

Andrew hung his head, but Emmett could see him peeking up at him through his eyelashes.

He grinned at the younger man. “You do, you want to,” he sing-songed.

“...Yeah,” he breathed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

****************************************

Kennedy grinned. “Uh-huh. They've been in the occult book trade for like the last thirty or forty years. Everything else is just a side-line... Always has been.”

“Oh, geez. You'd think they'd, like, let people know that in their ad in the Yellow pages. 'Eclectic Merchandise' my butt.”

“I asked why they didn't. The manager said that they did that on purpose to discourage spiritual thrillseekers. 'The veil of the unseen must not lightly be broken.' Pompous asshole. He wouldn't even let me into their book room until I could prove I was over 18.”

Xander sighed and rubbed his temple next to his eyepatch. “Dent was way over that. They have anything he'd've wanted?”

She shrugged. “What do I know? Giles asked me to pick him up _Pseudomonarchia Daemonum_ and _Verus Jesuitarum Libellus._ He said he was sick of reading them on line, and they had good prices on the illustrated ones... I wouldn't be surprised if Dent bought some books there.”

“And that would explain how the bad guys got onto him.”

“Willow thought so too. She's going to see if Dent's on their records.” She hesitated a moment. “I bought her some earrings there... Want to see?”

“Sure.”

She took a blue velvet jeweler's box out of the paper bag, opened it and held it out to him. “Do you think she'll like them?”

Xander touched one, a delicate blue-and-green enameled dragonfly, with a cautious fingertip.

“They're gold. 18k.”

“They're beautiful,” he said. “What's the occasion?”

“Anniversary. We've been together almost a year...”

“Oh, she'll love them, definitely.”

Kennedy pulled the box back to herself and fidgeted with it for a moment. “Lately, I've been thinking maybe... Can we talk?”

Xander pasted an encouraging smile on his face as his heart sank. He didn't know what was coming, but 'can we talk?' had never meant anything good in his life so far. “Yes?”

She sat on his bed and crossed her legs. As she spoke, she stared at the jeweler's box, repeatedly flipping the lid open and closed, open and closed. “You really are a nice guy, you know?”

“That's me, Xander Harris. King of the nice guys. Um...”

“I don't like nice guys. Most of them, they aren't all that nice.”

“Well, I guess it's a good thing you're not into guys then. I mean, with the not liking them and the, the, the uh....”

“Shut up,” she said absently. “You see, usually after they find out no way am I interested, the 'nice' stops pretty quick. In fact, the 'nicer' they are? The worse they turn out to be. But you're not like that.”

“Uh… No.” If she was going to say anything but, 'Go you! Way to not be like that!' and change the subject, he might just run out screaming down the hall.

“OK, so, the thing is: Willow loves you. Maybe more than anybody else...”

Well, she loved a lot of other people—but maybe this wasn't the time to bring that up.

“And I know she's had boyfriends in the past, so whatever she says, guys have to do something for her, right? Some guys, anyway.”

Annnnnd… Kennedy was bringing it up. Xander felt his heart sink a little lower; like it was pulling his lungs down too. Kennedy couldn't be thinking he and Willow were... doing. That.

“I've never been good at sharing...”

Sharing! So now there was sharing? Oh, hell.

“And I'm kind of a brat; I've said it before—”

“We're just friends!”

Kennedy looked up at him, a little vexed. “Yes, I _know_ that. What I'm _trying_ to say is that I've been kind of nasty to you sometimes. And I'm sorry if I've ever said anything to you that—that hurt your feelings, or—”

“No! I have no feelings! Hurt feelings, I mean. I'm a totally un-hurt-feelings guy. Guy friend. Friend of a friend. Of a very good friend. Of mine.”

“You know, you're a little weird. So we're OK?”

“OK! Yeah, great... Wait. Are you apologizing to me?”

“Duh!”

“Oh...”

Her glare was very unnerving.

“Why are you apologizing to me?”

“I just said!”

“Oh, yeah. Um... OK.”

“I'm apologizing to you,” she said through gritted teeth, “because I've been rude to you ever since we left Sunnydale.”

“Not lately.” Mercifully, he was able to stop himself before adding, 'And you're rude to everybody.'

“'That's—” The sudden knock on the door cut off whatever she'd been about to say.

Xander fairly leapt for the door handle. “I'll get it!”

****************************************

“If you're not comfortable...”

“No, no. It's OK.” Andrew took a deep breath and glanced at the door to the other room as he pulled at the hem of his T-shirt. “Massages work better like this, right?”

“That's what they tell me.” Emmett reached out to stroke Andrew's cheek with his knuckles. “Or we could just take it slow.”

His hands stilled. “Slow... Slow is nice.”

Emmett gently pushed him down onto the bed and smiled down at him. “Slow is very nice,” he said, and smoothed the T-shirt's hem over his belly.

****************************************

“Wait! Sunglasses!” Kennedy said.

“Oh, right!” He whipped his eyepatch off, stuffed it into his pocket and grabbed the sunglasses from the top of the TV on his way to the door.

“Don't take the chain off!”

“I know!” he said and opened the door as far as he could. “Hello?” The gap was large enough for him to see two men standing in the dimly lit hall. One was a serious-looking man in his late fifties with thinning grayish hair and gray eyes. The other was younger, much bigger, and expressionless. He kind of reminded Xander of some of Riley's old military buddies. They were both conservatively dressed in dark slacks and coats.

“Mr. Alexander L. Harris?” asked the older of the two.

“Uh... yeah?”

“I'm Detective Horvath with the PPD.” He held up his badge, letting Xander take a long look at it. “And this is Detective Auden. Nice sunglasses. They new?”

Xander stared at him.

“Would you mind taking them off?”

“Yes, um... I have sensitive eyes.”

“Here?” He raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the softly lit hall that he was standing in.

“Very sensitive.”

“My, my. Too bad you can't just go back to wearing that eyepatch you had on last Thursday.”

Shit.

Detective Horvath put his hand on the doorpost and leaned forward, his face filling the gap. “It's very naughty to run away from a crime scene like that, Mr. Harris.”

Xander tried to speak, but could only make a sort of sizzling noise.

“Makes it really hard for us hard-working cops to catch the bad guys when our witnesses run away, you know. But that's OK, right? I'm sure the thing you want to do most of all in the world is come to the station and tell us all about 'the Cowboy'—”

“Also known as your 'good buddy Lyle',” rasped Detective Auden, who sounded like he was getting over a cold.

“He wasn't my buddy!”

“Wasn't?” asked Horvath.

“I—I mean 'ever.' He wasn't ever my buddy. Since I met him. The first time, I mean.”

“Huh. Known him long, have you? Never mind. You'd just have to tell us again at the station.”

“Wait a minute! I'm under arrest now?”

“Not yet. Do you want to be?” asked Horvath.

“'Cause we can arrange that,” added Auden.

“We wouldn't _want_ to have to do that,” said Horvath.

“More work. Not fun,” Auden said.

“It makes us cranky.”

“It's a pain in the ass, in fact.”

“You wouldn't like us when we're cranky—”

“OK! I get the picture. Can I get my coat? And I need to tell my friend what's going on.”

“Sure.” Horvath stood up, dropping his hand away from the door. “We'll be waiting right out here. Right, Dave?”

“Right, Carl,” he croaked.

Xander closed the door and reached over to the coat rack.

“How the hell did they find you?” Kennedy hissed, her eyes narrow and suspicious.

“No idea. Listen, do me a favor? Get everything packed up and ready to go. I got a feeling we might have to bug out quick. _Anything_ happens before I get back? Get the guys out of town. And I don't give a good goddamn what Emmett says this time, OK?”

“OK.”

“Good.” He slipped the chain and opened the door. “See you in a few.”

“Right.”

****************************************

Emmett gave a pretty good massage too, if he did say so himself. It had taken a few minutes, but Andrew was just beginning to finally relax... And then the door banged open, making them both jump and undoing all his work. It was Kennedy. Emmett was not amused.

“Well! Excuse you!”

“Get your clothes on,” she snapped. “The cops just took Xander away.”

Andrew gasped. “What! Why?”

“They found out he's the guy from last Thursday. You wouldn't have any idea how your friend-the-detective knew where to find him, would you _Mr._ _Honeycutt_?” She glared at him.

“No, I would not,” he answered stiffly.

“'Cause if you're lying to me, I'm going to—”

“Look! I wanted to tell him—”Emmett grabbed his briefs and pulled them on.“—I thought he needed to know, but—”He yanked his sweater over his head.“— I didn't because you all—”It took him a moment to find his trousers.“—didn't want me to, and I respected your wishes even though I thought it was the wrong thing to do. And now you accuse me of lying to you?” His socks were on the chair next to the bed. He scooted over and began to put them on.“Well, screw you, I don't do that kind of thing. But if you don't believe me? Fine!” He put his hands on his hips as he sat on the edge of the bed looking up at her. “Just tell me when I could have called him because I haven't been alone with a telephone _ever_ since you dragged me into this hotel room.”

“It's true,” Andrew said. “He couldn't have called. I've been with him the whole time.”

She rounded on him. “Oh, and you're so unbiased now that maybe you're _finally_ going to get you some?”

Now this was just too much.

“Hey!” Emmett snapped as he leapt to his feet. “Leave him out of this! You have a problem with me? Talk to me.”

She folded her arms and leaned up into him. “You better be telling me the truth, or I'm going to make what those guys tried to do to you look like patty-cake.”

Emmett folded his arms too. “Don't you dare pull that 'tude with me. I know what I did and didn't do. You may be the mistress of Kung-fu, but you don't scare me.”

They glared at each other until she finally broke off. “Screw this we're wasting time. Xander said to pack everything, so get packing.”

Andrew said in a small voice. “Emmett didn't do it. I know he didn't. They must've figured it out some other way.”

“How?”

Neither of them could think of any answer for that.

****************************************

Xander swiveled in his chair slightly; trying to watch around him as much as he could. Granted, the station's interior walls being made of windows from waist height to ceiling gave it a more open feeling that it otherwise would not have had—the hallways and offices were actually quite cramped—but at the moment all those windows around and behind him made him feel as if he were on display; as if something were sneaking up on him. The open door at his back didn't help either, and Detective Auden being seated behind him had only increased his uneasiness. Worst of all, he couldn't think how to ask 'How did you find me?' without revealing that he'd been avoiding them. The interview had been going on for about an hour, and he'd found it hard not to say too much. He'd barely managed to stick to his story—that he'd first run into Lyle Gorch and his brother when he was a high school student in California, that they hadn't really talked, that the Gorches had tried to 'mess with' one of his friends, but Lyle left town after Tector was killed in an earthquake, that he'd heard the Gorches had spent some time in Mexico, and that he didn't know anything more about him, including that Lyle was a serial killer known as 'the Cowboy.' Horvath and Auden had constantly jumped back, forth and sideways with their questions. If his story hadn't been basically rooted in fact, they would have caught him out for sure. As is was, he wound up telling them more than he'd meant to.

“So you say this 'Angel' guy knows him?” Horvath asked.

“I guess. He seemed to know Angel.”

“And he's living in LA.?”

“Last I saw him.”

“No last name?”

“None I ever heard him admit to.”

“And you have no idea where he is now.”

“Look, if I knew, I'd tell you, but the truth is Angel and I aren't friends. I have no idea where he is or what he's doing 'cause basically? I don't give a shit. All I know is last time I saw him, he was in LA. at the Hyperion Hotel.”

“Goody,” muttered Auden, “Please, can I tell the Feds they got to chase down some pop-star wannabe in LA.?”

Horvath doodled on his notepad “Maybe they changed numbers. We'll try again later. What does this 'Angel' guy look like again?” Horvath asked.

“I told you; tall, built, big forehead, dark hair, uses lots of product. Give me a break! It's not like I dated the guy. Are we done here?”

Horvath smiled with sinister cheer. “Almost. There's just one—” He started in his seat, staring past Xander's shoulder at the office's open door behind him, looking like a rabbit caught in head lights. Xander turned to see who—or what—could make him look like that. That was when he saw the red-headed waitress he'd met at the diner just before the ill-fated Gorch had turned up. She looked upset. Until she saw _him_. Then she looked upset and angry.

“You!” Debbie marched up to him and smacked him across the top of his head.

“Ow!” Xander cringed down in his chair. “What was that for!”

“That was for disappearing like that! We were worried sick about you.” She grabbed him by the ears and bussed him on his forehead. “And this is for saving Melanie.”

“Oh... um...”

She kissed him again and let him go. “And this is for saving my grand-daughter.”

Her what? “But—”

“How did you find him?” She was looking over his head at the detective.

“Funny you ask—” Horvath began.

“Save it. I don't got time now.”

“What's wrong?”

“Emmett. He's missing. He hasn't called for two whole days. I haven't heard from him since Friday.”

“Aw, Debbie! Emmett's a big boy. He probably met a new guy and took off to have some fun. He'll come home when he's ready.”

“He wouldn't do that! Not without calling me. Something's wrong, Carl. I feel it.” her face crumpled like she was about to cry, and she clutched at her coat over her heart.

Xander started to slide out of his seat. “I guess I better—”

“Sit down.” Horvath picked up his phone's handset and pressed a 4-digit number. “Chuck? We're done. I'm sending him over.” He hung up. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Harris. Now, Detective Simms down the hall would like a word with you too. Something about a guy named Phillip Dent. Detective Auden will show you the way.”

For a brief, mad moment, Xander considered making a break for it, but Auden's looming bulk between him and the door persuaded him otherwise. The detective stepped out of the office and beckoned.

“Right this way.”

As they went down the hall, Xander could hear the distraught Debbie explain the circumstances of Emmett's disappearance. He was still praying she never found out about his involvement in that when they arrived at Simms's office a few minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part B will be posted in a few days, I hope. Any and all feedback is welcome!


	23. Questions and answers (Part B)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some secrets are revealed.

Packing hadn't taken long, and then they'd had nothing to do but cruise through all the channels on the TV and wait for Xander to come back. Kennedy had demanded that the sound be turned down so low that it was barely audible. It didn't matter; all three of them were too tense and distracted (and angry and upset) to enjoy it.

Finally, somebody rattled the door handle. Andrew sighed with relief until Kennedy shook her head. She tapped him on the arm and pointed at his backpack. He stared at her, wide-eyed for a moment before nodding with a look of realization, and began to rummage through it. There was a brief silence. The door rattled. Whoever it was putting a key in the lock. Emmett could see Kennedy out of the corner of his eye, reaching over to the table to pick up something, but before he could turn to see what, the door snapped open to the limit of its chain.

“Get ready,” she said softly, and then called to the door, “Who is it?”

“Housekeeping,” said a woman's voice. “I'm here to change the sheets and towels. May I come in?”

Kennedy sneered. “No.”

Emmett barely opened his mouth to ask 'Get ready for what?' when somebody in the hall kicked the door in. Two men in dark suits and a woman in a hotel maid's uniform rushed in, slamming the door closed behind them. The maid shot the deadbolt.

“Hotel security!” the larger of the two men said. “Hold it right there!”

“Hey!” The maid pointed at Emmett. “There he is! That guy!”

The larger man grinned. “Well, well, well. So here's where you've been hiding.” He turned to Kennedy. “Unregistered guests are not allowed in the rooms. You're all going to have to come to the manager's office with us.”

“Oh, I don't think so,” Kennedy said. “Andrew?”

Emmett gasped as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Andy raise a gun in a sure two-handed grip, and then sighed in relief as he realized it was just a squirt-gun—its bright pink color gave it away.

The smaller man just looked at him with raised eyebrows. “That's not going to help you.”

“Wrong,” said Andrew, and squeezed the trigger. A bright stream of water arced out the nozzle and hit him square in the face.

And then the scene changed, suddenly and grotesquely as the water hit, bubbled and fizzed. The smaller man's hands went to his eyes so quickly that Emmett hadn't seen them move.

“I can't see!” he screamed in a shrill, anguished voice.

“You little shit!” the larger man snarled as he turned away from Kennedy to attack Andrew.

Emmett could see the skin on his face moving like… like nothing he'd _ever_ seen before, and his eyes glowed a baleful yellow. Andrew yelped and shot at him with the squirt gun, but he ducked so quickly that the— Water? Acid? only caught him on the ear.

“I'm going to tear your fucking throat right the fuck out,” he hissed through sharp, jagged teeth.

Without thinking, Emmett stepped in front of Andrew and spread his arms to try to block this monster. The man—thing—grinned at him, and stalked forward... and a moment later, he exploded into a shower of dust, revealing Kennedy holding a pencil in a stabbing grip.

Emmett could only stare as the maid, whose face had also changed, shrieked and turned to run. She was scrabbling frantically at the door handle when Kennedy caught up to her and stabbed her in the back with the pencil too. This time Emmett saw how it happened; the patch of gray spreading from the stab wound, covering her body in the blink of an eye, and the flesh falling away into dust. He thought he saw her skeleton for a split second, standing at the door before it fell apart too.

The smaller man—thing—was still moaning with his hands over his eyes. “Darl? Maureen?” he called. Emmett could see that his teeth had changed too, and his fingers were like claws.

“They took a powder,” said Kennedy.

“Don't hurt me! I was only following orders!”

“Oh, I won't hurt you,” she cooed, “Not if you cooperate.”

“I'll tell you everything. Anything you want to know.”

“I know,” she said.

****************************************

It was a little late to realize he'd been an idiot, but that didn't stop Xander from telling himself that. Deep down, he'd expected the Pittsburgh cops to be as useless as the ones in Sunnydale, and now he was paying the price: spending hours oscillating between tedium and tension as he tried to avoid telling the whole truth to some people with pretty good bullshit detectors. It didn't help that the Simms interview had come out of the blue, which was probably why Horvath hadn't warned him.

“So, you never met him.”

“That is correct.”

“Or spoke to him.”

“Also correct.”

“Or even knew he existed until last week.”

“That's right.”

“And this friend of yours sent you to look him up because...?”

“He heard Dent had a good book collection; he wanted to see if they could maybe do some trading.”

“And you're not going to tell us who this friend is because...?”

“Privacy. Specifically, his.”

Simms drummed his fingers on the desk. “I could charge you,” he finally said, without heat.

“It wouldn't do you any good. Like I told you, he doesn't know anything about the murder.” Man, it sucked having the bad guys tapping the cops' phones. It sucked even more that the one cop in the station he wanted to give the 'high priority' number to already had it, and had already spoken to Giles on the phone. Unless... He considered the options while he finished what he was saying to the detective. “It would just waste everybody's time. Yours included.”

“But how will I know that without talking to him myself? Look, we know you're one of the good guys. It's not everybody who'd do what you did to help a stranger. I don't want to start any trouble for you, but be reasonable. I have a job to do and I'm the one who says what the best way to do it is.”

Xander hesitated a moment longer before pretending to be convinced. “OK, I see your point. But I gotta warn you, he's not going to be happy about it, and he doesn't know anything beyond what I told you.” He waited a moment to make sure Simms was ready to write the information. “The number is 216-555-1727. Ask for Robin Wood, and somebody there will  
connect you.”

“Robin _Wood_? Is this a joke?”

Xander winced. “No. And don't ever say that to him; he doesn't like it when people don't take his name seriously. Maybe I better call him first.”

“No, no. I'll do it.” He lifted the handset and dialed. “Hello, this is Detective Charles Simms, and I'm with the Pittsburgh Police Department, and this is? Shawna? Hi, Shawna. I need to speak to Robin Wood; is he... He's where? ... Oh, I see. Do you know when... About 7:00, you think? OK, thank you. No, no messages. I'll try again later. Thank you... goodbye.”

“He wasn't there?”

“'Shawna' says he's at the hospital, visiting a sick friend.” He looked at Xander's face closely for a moment. “For what it's worth, she didn't sound like it was anything serious.”

“Yeah… It's probably OK.” Great. As soon as he was out of here, he was going to have to call and find out what was wrong this time. “Well, I guess if there's nothing else you need...”

“Just there's a couple more things.” Xander sank back into his chair as Detective Simms looked down at the open notepad on his desk. “How well do you know a Mr William Porter?”

Oh-ho! So _that_ was how they'd found him. He should never have used his real name. Also? Crap. No way would he get away with lying about that. “We've met a couple of times. He's the one who told me Mr Dent was murdered,”

“Mm-hmm. According to him, you claimed to have some sort of business relationship with the victim.”

“Well... Robin was hoping for that. I'm not that much into books.”

Detective Simms looked up at him. “Mr Porter seemed to think you knew a lot about Dent's background. He seemed to think you knew a lot about the status of our investigation too. He seemed to think you'd discussed it with somebody on the force.”

Ulp.

“Of course, I know you didn't because any one of us would have had you get in touch with me.”

“Um...”

“The other two people who were with you the first time, however... What were their names? Andrew and Kennedy?”

“Yeah.”

“Neither of them talked to me either... Unless this Kennedy is a thirty-some British lady. Which Porter said she wasn't.”

Xander shrugged. “Hey, like I said, we don't know all that much.”

“Dent's family hadn't been notified. You knew about that.”

“Oh! Robin knows his—his cousin.”

Simms smiled indulgently. “And you said he wouldn't be able to help me.”

“I forgot about that,” Xander admitted. “OK, you were right, I was wrong.”

“That's not a problem. Oh, about Steve Maitland? That was some nice work. Once you lead us to him, we were finally able to pin down Dent's murder to between February 24th and 27th. Shaved four whole days off the coroner's estimate. Cleared our only suspect too... But you wouldn't know about that either, would you?”

“Uh... Not really. I just went to see the guy about maybe getting some shelves installed for a— for another friend, and it didn't work out.” He hoped to hell Phil had kept his lip zipped.

“Yeah, I heard. I just thought it was interesting. I mean, here I am looking at this case I thought was dead until somebody pointed out some pretty big holes in it last week, and now it seems like everywhere I go, I find you checking out stuff we should have already known about.”

Xander sat very still.

“I'm not saying you're doing anything wrong. But here you still are, which I've got to wonder for what. I mean, Dent's dead, right? Most people would have just gone back home after they discovered the guy they came to make a deal with was... unavailable.”

“Well, gee. This is such a great town, you know. Lots to see, lots to do... I went to the Carnegie Museum of Natural History yesterday.”

“Have fun?”

“It was the best I ever went to. I'm thinking of going to the art part tomorrow.”

“I recommend it.” The detective regarded him seriously for a moment. “What I don't recommend is you investigating Dent's murder.” He held up his hand in a 'stop' gesture as Xander started to speak. “No, don't say anything. Unless you're going to tell me who did it.”

“I wish I could.” He hesitated a moment. “For what it's worth? I'm not a detective, but I think whoever it was wanted Dent's books. Like, maybe the killer's another collector. And if that's right, _maybe_ he went to one of the bookstores Dent used to go to.”

“Thank you,” said the Detective. “I'll look into it.”

Xander shifted in his chair. His butt hadn't been so numb since high school.

“Oh, by the way, before you go, Mr Harris? According to our records, the address you have on your driver's license fell into a sinkhole last spring… I saw you on the news.”

“What?”

“I knew I'd seen you before when Carl and Dave passed your picture around, but I couldn't remember where until I read your driver's license. You were on that schoolbus—the one that made it out of Sunnydale just before the town fell in. It can't be fun to lose everything like that.”

“No. No, it's not.”

“Sorry. So, your new address? I'd appreciate something a little more current, if you don't mind.”

“Ah... Um... I don't really have one.”

“You don't have an address.”

“Not yet. I'm... I'm looking for work right now, so I just figured that that could wait until I get a job. And my own place.”

“I see. So you're staying with your friend in—” he held note with the PMS Palace's phone number out at arm's length and squinted at it “—Cleveland?”

Xander nodded.

“I hope you find one soon.”

“Thanks... I think I have a line on something.”

“It wouldn't involve detective work, would it?”

“No! It's more construction-related. Well, re-construction.”

“Is it? Well, that's good to hear. I hope it works out for you.”

“Thanks. Now can I...?”

“Yes, and thank you for your help, Mr Harris.”

“Don't mention it.” Xander stood and stretched. “Really. Oh, geez. It's after five? I better get back to the hotel. My friends are going to be worried about me.”

****************************************

As he'd watched Kennedy question their prisoner, any desire Emmett had ever felt to get into B&D was pretty effectively squelched. Along with his appetite. He must have looked pretty green because Kennedy had taken a break and made him go into the other room with Andrew.

“Put the other bar lock on the door too. Yes, both of them. I don't want more of this one's friends busting in over there while I'm busy with him,” she'd said.

On the plus side, he'd finally found out what they'd been hiding from him. They couldn't hide it any more; that was a vampire tied to that chair. Mrs. Honeycutt's little boy might not be the sharpest pencil in the box, but he could admit the truth when his face was rubbed right in it. So he waited, sitting on the edge of his bed next to Andrew, while Andrew told him the rest. Vampires were super-strong. They drank blood to survive and preferred human blood when they could get it. It wasn't a problem for them; they loved hunting, biting and killing humans. Every once in a while, they would feed a dying victim some of their blood, and a new vampire would rise in a day or so ready to join the hunt. There was not much existential angst about being one of the undead; Anne Rice had been pretty much wrong about everything. Maureen and Darl had also been vampires. That was why they'd fallen into little piles of dust when Kennedy had stuck pencils in their hearts.

“It doesn't have to be pencils. Any sharp piece of wood works,” Andrew told him.

“Why?”

“I don't know. It just does.”

Andrew had also listed decapitation, sunlight, fire, crosses and holy water. Emmett guessed that was what was in his squirt gun. He didn't ask. He didn't ask about the people who'd attacked him either, but Andrew told him anyway. Kennedy had dusted the first one while Emmett was trapped in his SUV. The others the next morning behind the diner? Well, Xander had staked one and Kennedy had gotten the other while Andrew pulled Emmett into the sunlight. There'd been one driving the car too, but he'd 'slayed' himself when he'd peeled out of the shaded parking lot after Kennedy smashed his windshield in with her fist, and wrapped his car around a telephone pole. Sunlight had done the rest. Kennedy had recognized Emmett when they'd taken the bag off his head… That's when they'd decided to bring him back to the hotel, the better to protect him. And because they'd thought the vampires who'd killed Dent might be after him.

“So… You people fight vampires often, do you?”

“Kennedy and Xander do it more. I just help out.”

“Modest too,” Emmett said with a smile.

Andrew looked at his hands. “No, it's true. I... Mostly, I do the cooking and try not to get in the way.”

“Well, I think you're very brave.”

“Can we _please_ not talk about it.”

Andrew sounded so upset that Emmett decided to leave it alone—for now. “Let me guess... That Drusilla female isn't crazy.”

Andrew shook his head. “Oh, no. She's totally crazy... But she's also a vampire.”

“Well, isn't that just special.”

“You seem to be... You don't seem to be very surprised. I mean, most people? When they find out the truth? They almost never believe it. We were sure you wouldn't.”

“Is that why you didn't tell me?”

“Yeah,” Andrew sighed and pulled his knees up under his chin so he could rest his head on them. “We were afraid you'd run away from us, and then they'd get you.”

“I resent that. You're not dealing with a total rube here. I have had experiences with the supernatural too, I'll have you know. Why, I actually met a ghost once.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, _think_ he was a ghost. I mean, I ate some pretty iffy mushrooms right before I met him, so I might have just imagined it... But why would I imagine some dead old guy named Harry that I'd never met? I don't think that makes sense. Do you think he could have been a ghost?”

Andrew considered this for a moment. “He might have been. Taking drugs is part of lots of shamanistic rituals for calling forth the spirits of the dead. Did he seem, well, angry about anything?”

“No, he was really nice. Very encouraging.”

“That sounds more like a guiding spirit than a ghost.”

“Well, that's supernatural too, isn't it?”

“Definitely.”

They were silent a moment, and then they both sighed.

“She's not going to let him go, is she?”

“Let him loose to kill other people? Let him go back to his master and tell him where you are? No.”

“What if he promised not to?”

“Vampires don't keep promises. The only one I ever knew who did was Spike. This guy is no Spike.”

“Spike was a vampire? Oh, that's right. He was Drusilla's boyfriend.”

“Uh-huh.”

Silence fell again.

“How much longer do you think this is going to take?” Emmett asked.

“I'll go see,” Andrew said.

He had just about finished unfolding himself when Kennedy opened the door—much more gently than she'd done the last time. She looked… She looked dazed.

“Did you kill him?” Emmett asked.

“He answered my questions and I cut him loose.”

“He attacked you, didn't he,” Andrew said. “You knew he would.”

“I promised I wouldn't hurt him. I never said I wouldn't defend myself.”

“Oh, that's a relief,” said Emmett. “Just stabbing him when he was all helpless seemed so... So cold-blooded.”

“No. I couldn't do that,” she said.

Andrew didn't say anything; he just looked pale.

“What did he say?” Emmett asked, hoping to distract him.

“Simms re-opened the Dent case. He went to see Porter and got Xander's name from him somehow. After that all the cops had to do was check all the hotels until they found him. They lead the vampires right here.”

“Well, golly gee!” Emmett put his hands on his hips and cocked his head. “I guess it wasn't me who tattled, was it? Aaaand? What do we say?”

“Those three came here to wait for Xander in case the ones at the station missed him.”

****************************************

The only way out for civilians went past Horvath's office. Debbie was still in there; she seemed to be more upset now than she'd been when he'd left to see Simms. Which, in the abstract, was a good thing. Any vampires watching her for clues that would lead them to Emmett would see in five seconds that she didn't know anything, and they'd leave her alone. In reality? Xander felt like a creep. He took a breath and steeled himself to sneak past, but it was not to be. Detective Auden saw him coming and stepped out into the hall, blocking his way. Xander took a deep breath and prayed that she would be too wrapped up in worrying about Emmett to sense how guilty he felt.

“Still here?” Auden croaked.

“We had a lot to talk about.”

“Listen,” Auden said in a rough whisper. He glanced back into Horvath's office behind him. “Can you wait up just a second? We have a situation here, and she seems to like you.”

“No!” Debbie's voice was penetrating, and so was the sniffle punctuating her declaration. “I don't _want_ you to drive me to work. Or _home_. Or _any_ where! I want you to go look for Emmett.”

“And I will,” said Horvath. “I'll go talk to that guy he did that party on Friday for right now, if he's home. I'll put out an APB and start the guys asking around the clubs too, but Deb, you can _not_ come with me, and you can _not_ wait here. I mean it.”

Auden rapped his knuckles on the doorpost.

“What!”

“Harris here is ready to go back to his hotel. I thought I'd give him a lift, him being new in town and all.”

“Yes. Fine. Go.”

“I could give Ms Novotny a ride too.”

“I don't _want_ —”

Horvath beamed at him. “That's a great idea.”

“But—”

“Go _on_ , Deb. If Emmett's going to call or show up anywhere, it'll be your place. Go home.”

“...OK,” she said, and sniffled again.

Detective Auden tossed his keys up to the ceiling and caught them on their way to the ground with a down-handed swipe. “C'mon, folks. Parking garage is this way,” he said as he turned to go.

****************************************

The investigators examining the security tapes from the police parking garage afterwards were unable to determine how the seven or eight people (five male, confirmed; a possible sixth male, unconfirmed; two female, confirmed) wearing motorcycle helmets had been able to gain access to a secure area to attack Detective David Auden, Ms Debbie Novotny and Mr Alexander L. Harris. Technicians were analyzing the equipment to determine whether some sort of malfunction had occurred in the recording equipment that had caused the inability to determine the number of attackers with more precision. So far, no malfunction had been found.

The CSI labs were analyzing a small pile of dust found at the scene in hopes that it had been introduced to the area by the attackers and would provide information as to their whereabouts. Blood spatters from the two assailants Detective Auden had been able to shoot before another had thrown him into a support column, rendering him unconscious, indicated that they had been seriously wounded, although their actions on the video tapes did not demonstrate such. Toxicology was testing the blood for agents such as PCP that could account for such behavior. Hospitals and clinics in the city and county had been alerted to be on the lookout for two men with bullet wounds to the chest; one approximately five-eleven, 170 lbs, and the other approximately six-two, 220 lbs.

Detective Auden was currently listed in serious but stable condition at Mercy Hospital. Debbie Novotny's courage and quick thinking in dragging the unconscious detective out of the path of the kidnapper's stolen van (prop. Sgt. Borchgrevink, Major Crimes) were commended.

Mr Alexander L. Harris of Sunnydale, California and lately Cleveland, Ohio was last seen struggling against his captors as they forced him into the back of the van, which was recovered three blocks away shortly after. A pair of sunglasses and a sharpened piece of wood identified by Detective Horvath as belonging to the kidnapped man were found in the back of the van, along with traces of blood belonging to the two assailants shot by Detective Auden earlier. The victim was assumed to be uninjured at the time the van was abandoned.

****************************************

“What!” Andrew shrieked.

“Oh… no.” Emmett felt sick. “Now that was _not_ what I wanted to hear.”

“We have to go get him!” Andrew was already cramming his feet into his shoes. “We have to go. Right. Now.”

“It's too late. I called Willow as soon as I heard. She tried to call him at the station, but he'd already left. They got him in the parking garage while she was trying to find him.”

Andrew sat back down on the bed like a marionette with it's strings cut. “What are we going to do?”

“We can't stay here,” Emmett said. “Can we? I mean, They'll send some more over sooner or later when those three don't come back.”

“Sooner,” Kennedy said bleakly. “They'll want to see what paper Xander has on them. Funny, he told me to take everybody and go back to Cleveland if anything happened.”

“'I'm not going to just leave him like this,” Andrew said.

Emmett folded his arms. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Nobody's going anywhere. The Three Stooges 'fixed' our SUV before they came here.” She straighted up. “We're going to have to leave most of the clothes. We'll take the papers and the weapons. And anything they can trace.”

“Where are we going?” Andrew asked.

“We'll figure that out later. Right now, we have to get away from here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is my last day of vacation. :(
> 
> But at least I have time to post this early :)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter; criticism and comments are welcome!


	24. Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Xander doesn't get to say much.

Cold.

He was lying on his side.

Cold and dark.

He smelled onions.

Something scratchy covered his face.

His hands were bound behind his back. Handcuffs.

His wrists, shoulders and chest ached. And his head. His throat hurt too.

He remembered trying not to breathe the chloroform. He didn't think he'd managed it.

Pain, then dizziness, then nausea, pain, dizziness, nausea... He was never going to eat an onion again as long as he lived.

Poor choice of words.

Would he feel better, or worse if he threw up? Would he rather smell vomit, or onions? Or vomit and onions? He swallowed. If the vamps that had grabbed him took the bag off his head, though, he'd aim for their shoes. His head twinged again. Maybe he'd try to aim higher than that.

He wondered whether Debbie and Auden were OK. He wondered If Kennedy had heard what had happened to him yet. She might have. His being grabbed right out of the cops' garage would definitely get some chatter over the lines Willow was monitoring... She would have gotten Andrew and Emmett out of town, then. Good. One less thing for him to worry about. One less weakness to exploit.

Footsteps coming closer and voices.

“...and here he is.”

“Well, let's see what you've brought me. Sit him up. And take that off.”

Rough hands pulled him up to a slumped kneeling position. Great. His knees had been about the only part of him that hadn't hurt. After a moment, somebody pulled the scratchy, smelly sack off his head. He was in a dim, cavernous warehouse, empty except for some shipping crates against the far wall, with a gray concrete floor. There were several people standing around him, about nine or ten, but only two of them were very close. A hand tangled in his hair and pulled his head back to see... The chief vamp was good-looking in a sort of androgynous way. His long, dark hair, partially caught back in a ponytail, hung well past his shoulders, and he was dressed like he'd watched _'Interview with the Vampire'_ and taken notes.

'Brad Pitt did it better,' Xander thought muzzily. 'Why did I even watch that movie, again? Oh, yeah. Dawn wanted to bug Buffy.'

'Brad' regarded him silently for a moment, like a cook examining a dubious cabbage. “What happened to his eye?”

“Huh?” The beefy one next to him leaned forward to look closer. Judging by the black motorcycle helmet he was carrying under one arm and the leathers he was wearing, he was one of the vamps that had jumped him earlier. “I don't know. He was like that when we got him. I guess he was wearing those shades to hide it.”

Xander slumped again when 'Brad' let go of his hair. He could hear the vampires talking over his head, saying things about 'rewards' and 'soon,' and then their leader: “No. This time, I'll try another way.”

“I can get it, Sire! I swear,” pleaded Biker-vamp. “He won't break like that other one did. Look at him, how much younger he is.”

The leader ignored him. “You two. Pick him up and follow me.”

Xander could hear footsteps behind him, and then two pairs of hands hauled him to his feet. It was the last straw. The worst wave yet of pain, dizziness and nausea washed over him. A second later, he was vomiting helplessly, and considerably higher than Biker-vamp's shoes. He just missed nailing 'Brad' too.

“I'm going to die right now,” he thought, as he watched Biker-vamp's fangs drop in a furious snarl. As wretched as he felt at the moment, the idea didn't seem so bad. He hung passively in the other vampires' grip and waited for the end.

“Stop,” 'Brad' said.

Biker-vamp stopped cold. “But look what he—” He gestured at his soiled leather jacket and trousers.

“Are you are a complete and utter moron? What did I tell you about over-doing the chloroform? Vomiting, unconsciousness and death, I said. And you think you're capable of learning what I need to know from him without killing him first?”

“It's not my fault,” whined Biker-vamp. “He kept fighting. I had to keep giving him more to make him stop. And he killed Jeff!”

“Did he really? That's... very interesting. How?”

“With a stick. Stuck him right in the chest with it, and 'poof!' You said we were immortal.”

'Brad' sighed, and said with exaggerated patience, “'Immortal' does not mean 'invulnerable' or 'invincible'. I told you there were drawbacks to our condition. This is one of them.”

“So now I have to add toothpicks to the list? Man, this blows. If I'd known...” He glanced at 'Brad.'

“Yes?”

Biker-vamp coughed. “Nothing.”

“If you don't like being one of my little family—”

“No! No, I like it! It's good! It's all good.”

“So glad to hear you say so,” he murmured. “I would hate to have to... send you away after such a successful mission.” He put his hand under Xander's chin and lifted his head, forcing him to look him in the eye. “How did you know about the effect wood has on us? And don't lie to me; I'll know if you do.”

Maybe, if he tried, he could get 'Brad' right in the face. He still felt really sick… He retched experimentally. The vampire let go hastily, stepped away with a disgusted expletive, and wiped his fingers on Biker-vamp's shoulder.

“It's going to be hours before he's ready,” he said.

“Him?” A woman behind him said.

He knew that voice. It was a bad voice to be hearing.

“He will never be ready. Never, never, never, never. Ffffffsshhhh! The phoenix burns the net.”

“You.” 'Brad' sneered over Xander's shoulder. “How did you get in here? How did she get in here?” He raised his voice and turned, projecting to all the corners of the warehouse. “Can't anybody follow a simple order anymore?”

Drusilla laughed, a deep-throated, knowing chuckle, as 'Brad' wheeled to glare at her. “I came in on little cat feet. While the cat's away, the rats will play. They take what isn't theirs.”

“Really. I didn't notice your name on him. What's so special about him, anyway?”

Her voice grew nearer, circling from behind him to his right. “You stole a tabby kitten, but tigers have stripes to hide in plain sight. In the grass, in the trees.” She stopped just on the edge of Xander's vision, and stood there, swaying slightly. “Tiger, tiger burning bright, in the forests of the night, wish I may wish I might have this wish I wish tonight.” She stepped closer. “Give him to me, pretty please with sugar on top?”

“Ah-ah!” 'Brad' waved a forefinger at her. “You may be one of the old ones, but I'm the Master of Pittsburgh. I do not have to give you anything of mine.”

“Not yours! Mine! Daddy sent him away. But. He. Came. Back.”

“That's very interesting,” he said in a tone that suggested it was anything but. “Why don't you run along and let your daddy know?”

“Too late, too late. Daddy knows the heart, the hearth, the fire at the core. He fears death by water.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He came back to the great dance, and _he_ —” she gestured at Xander— “will come back again. He will never, ever help you.”

“Oh, I don't think so. He'll come back, all right, and when he does, he'll help me very much.”

'Oh, shit,' Xander thought. 'What does _that_ mean?'

'Brad' went on. “Believe me, he'll be happy to tell me everything he knows. Everything changes, doesn't it, Lady?” He ruffled Xander's hair. “It's a pity about that eye. He's all unbalanced like that...” He put on a bland, benevolent smile and stroked Xander's face. “If I had those books, maybe I could do something about that.”

'Oh, now this is a first,' thought Xander 'A vampire wants to help me? It is to laugh. What kind of an idiot does he take me for?' He tried to lift his head to at least glare back at 'Brad,' but even the slight motion made his head swim. He groaned and hung passively again.

“Ah, so sad. Don't worry, this won't last much longer. If you please me later, perhaps I'll even do something about your eye. And if you don't, it won't matter anyway.”

“Will he _please_ you?” Drusilla asked. “I had a lovely squire. He brought me plums and cherries and sweet, juicy peaches.”

“Are you telling me this is a juicy peach? Lady, you _are_ crazy. He is damaged and he reeks of puke and onions. I'm going to have to hose him down before I can even think of laying a fang on him. If he doesn't tell me something useful, I won't waste five more seconds on him.”

“Now that's more like it,” Xander muttered. Tried to mutter. His mouth didn't seem to be working right.

"Shhh," said 'Brad.'

“He died for a peach. Squire and knight, king and queen; ashes, all ashes,” said Drusilla. “But what's mine is still mine.”

She was so quick that Xander didn't see her move toward them, but he saw her sudden stop. She looked kind of like Wile E. Coyote stuck in a puddle of glue. Whenever she tried to move toward them again, her feet returned to the spot she'd tried to leave.

“What is it?” she whispered.

'Brad' grinned. “After our last little 'discussion,' I had a magician friend whip up a little charm for me. Think of it as the magical equivalent of a restraining order. That's as close as you get, Lady. And your boyfriend too.”

Drusilla's eyes flashed yellow. “Those that hear wisdom shall live,” she hissed, “but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.”

“Whatever.”

He took a step toward her. She held her ground for a moment, but grudgingly took a step back. 'Brad' stepped forward, she stepped back. He leapt forward, she flew backward as if pushed and landed on her rump. He took another step, and she skidded back exactly the same distance.

“Whoo-hoo, this is fun!” He threw his head back and barked out a guffaw. “I may let Wheatly live after all.”

The members of 'Brad's gang tittered in the shadows around them while Drusilla lunged to her feet, hissing with rage.

“All fools together, all will burn,” she said with quiet fury. She whirled, clawing out the throat of one of the few who was still snickering, and her victim fell to the floor gurgling with his hands to the gaping wound she'd torn. The other vampires sobered abruptly. She turned back, looking enigmatically at Xander. “But you, my own, watch for me. I'll not be far from you.” She turned away again, and swept out.

“Isn't that adorable!” said 'Brad' gleefully. “It looks like you've got a fan. There may be more to you than meets the eye.” He looked around the dingy warehouse for a moment and then back at Xander. “Well? What are you two waiting for?”

“Yes, Sire,” the vampire holding Xander's right arm said, and they started dragging him toward the doors.

“Sire?” They paused as the taller of the two female vampires pointed at the one Drusilla had torn the throat out of. “What should we to do about Alan?”

“Well,” 'Brad' said. He's not going to be able to feed like that. Eventually, he'll shrivel up and blow away.” He shrugged. “I suggest setting him on fire, but you can do what you want. Come on, people! Did I say to stop? Move!”

The two holding Xander's arms resumed their progress toward the door. Biker-vamp and a vamp wearing a dark suit trotted ahead of them to slide the huge steel doors open. A wave of cold, fresh air hit Xander in the face, helping to drive away the cobwebs in his brain and settling his stomach. A robin's egg blue Cadillac was parked in the moonlight a few yards away.

'Brad' took a deep appreciative breath of the clean winter air. “I'll ride in front this time, Bert” he said.

The vampire in the suit pulled out his keychain and used the remote on it to pop the trunk.

“What do you think you're doing?” 'Brad' asked.

“Sire, I just assumed that since you always—”

“Idiot. This one rides in the back seat. You two: if he gets sick again, make him do it into a bag, and Satan help you if you let one speck get on my upholstery.”

“Should I have them gag him?” Bert asked.

'Brad' stared at him. “Should you have them gag him? Should you have them _gag_ him? Oh, yes, that'll stop him from barfing all over my car.” He ever-so-casually stuck a finger in Bert's eye. Bert stifled his shriek when 'Brad' slapped him on the side of his head. “Hey! Why don't we buy a Ouija board on the way home for the séance I'm going to have to talk to him because he _choked_ to death on his own _vomit_!”

“Forgive me, Sire,” Bert gasped as blood ran down his face. He pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and held it to his eye. “I wasn't thinking. In the back seat, of course. I'll make sure they don't let him make a mess.”

“Thank you.”

Bert opened the front passenger door for 'Brad' and closed it behind him after he had settled in. He went around to the driver's seat and got in as the ones holding Xander pushed him into the middle of the back seat and got in on either side of him. He handed a few plastic shopping bags back to the one sitting on Xander's left while the one on his right buckled him in.

Biker-vamp leaned down to speak to 'Brad' through the driver's side window. “Should I get in the trunk?”

“No,” said 'Brad.' “Go clean yourself off and then find Wayne and Katsuo and all the rest of those meatheads I sent out to look for that caterer. One tall, skinny, _human_ cook should not be able to evade us for four days. I'm very disappointed in them.”

Biker-vamp smiled, showing all his teeth. “Yes, Sire. I'll tell them you said so.”

“Do. Oh, and go get Darl and the others to start looking for him too.”

“Sire, perhaps if we knew why—”

“Because I told you to, that's 'why.' Now do it.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Home,” he said, and the car started forward.

************************************

Andrew and Emmett huddled together in their seat in the booth at the back of the diner. Andrew cupped his hands around his mug of hot cocoa to warm his fingers and leaned into Emmett's side. They watched silently as Kennedy came back from the bank of phones near the ladies' room .

Andrew straightened up as she sat across from them. “What'd they say?”

“They're sending help.”

“Nobody's going to be able to get here for three hours! He could be dead by then!”

“He could be dead by _now_ ,” she answered.

Emmett smacked the hand that wasn't holding Andrew palm-down on the table. “Now you stop that,” he growled. “It doesn't help at all. What can _we_ do?”

She bit her lip. “I don't know yet, but Willow's working on it. She says the first thing is to get you two somewhere safe.”

He sighed. “Well, normally, I'd say 'Go to the police,' but...”

“If Xander wasn't safe with the police, you won't be either,” Andrew said.

"True,” said Kennedy. “The best place right now is somebody's home—”

“What? Why?” Emmett asked. “Oh! How about a church?”

“Vampires don't like churches,” she answered, “but they can go in if they want to. It's safer to be in a living person's home; they can't get in there without an invitation.”

“The question is,” Andrew said,“are your friends' homes being watched too?”

Emmett knit his brows. “I thought it was just their phones.”

“No,” Kennedy sighed. “When I went out patrolling—”

“'Patrolling!' What do you mean 'Patrolling?' Oh, don't tell me you went out _looking_ for those things!”

“Emmett, it's what I do.”

“Kennedy is a Vampire Slayer,” Andrew said. “She has been chosen—”

“Save it,” she snapped. “You can tell him all about that when we're under cover. And I'm in another room.”

“So they're actually watching all my friends homes too? What if... What if they try to hurt them?”

“All of them? I don't think. And that's why I kind of took care of all the ones I ran across.”

“You said you 'Didn't lay a finger on them'.”

“I didn't. I used a stake.”

“A stake! Oh, my Lord...”

“They're stronger than pencils. They don't break so easy.”

“I think I was happier not knowing that.”

“Get used to it. OK, so there were vamps staking out Debbie Novotny's place on Saturday, but we can't go there anyway since that's where you live. You've lived with Lindsay Peterson and Melanie Marcus and Ted Schmidt too, so we should probably stay away from them. Who else do you know who'd take you in, but who isn't so close that the fang gang would assume you'd go there?”

************************************

To Xander's great regret, the chloroform had pretty much worn off by the time they'd arrived. He'd kind of been hoping that he'd still be wanting to die by the time they finally got around to torturing and killing him. He'd hung his head, pretending to still be sick as they'd pulled up the long drive. 'Frick' (as Xander had secretly christened the vamp on his left) and 'Frack' (the one on his right) had dragged him out of the car. Bert got out to open the 'Brad's door, and then drove the car off, probably to park it in the garage.

'Brad's' lair was a huge building in the 'Faux Chateau' style set in a half-acre lot. Xander estimated it to be at least 5000 square feet. It was colder than hell inside. Xander decided that if he ever was able to build his own place, marble floors were a definite no go. And also? He'd insist on better workmanship. He doubted the place was more than five years old, but he thought he'd noticed that some of the stone facade had already fallen off of the outside walls, and the inside walls looked out of true. There was also way more cracking than there should have been. He'd bet anything the foundation hadn't been poured right.

“Welcome to my home,” said 'Brad' “Enter freely and of your own will!” He giggled.

“Thanks, 'Brad',” said Xander. He'd wanted to add something sarcastic about dressing like Louis de Pointe du Lac, but his mouth still felt numb. It didn't seem to have gotten the message that he was awake now, and he would be damned if he was going to drool on himself in front of the undead.

The vampire looked at him curiously. “Why did you call me that?”

“Brad Pitt. Louis," was all he trusted his uncooperative tongue to say. It was enough.

“You think I look like Brad Pitt?” he asked. He didn't sound like he minded. In fact, to judge by his smile, he was genuinely pleased.

Xander resolved to keep his big mouth shut from then on.

“You may call me 'Brad' for now,” he said with a lordly wave. “Later you will call me by another name.”

Xander nodded, but thought, 'Could you _be_ a bigger twerp?'

'Brad' sniffed. “What's this?” He circled around Xander and his hench-vamps and 'tsk'ed loudly. “What a pity; you've cut your wrists on the handcuffs.” Xander felt 'Brad's hands on his wrists, stroking. When he came around to the front again, there was blood on his fingers. He held them up to his mouth and licked them lasciviously—for about half a second. After the first taste, he vamped out and slurped away like a kid with his first ice-cream cone, looking at Xander as if he was the rest of the sweet shop. “Now I understand,” he breathed. “Uncuff him.”

“Sire,” 'Frack' began.

“Now,” said 'Brad.' “

'Frack' pulled a key out of his trouser pocket and undid the cuffs while 'Frick' held his forearms. When they brought his hands around to the front, he could see that the skin on his wrists was rubbed raw. 'Brad' poked at his left wrist with a forefinger to wipe up some more blood and then licked it again. Xander had seen vamps in game face look hungry, and he'd seen them look angry, but he'd never seen one look blissful.

“Sire?” Frick asked, looking hopeful. “Um...?”

“Don't even think of it. This one is mine.” He sniffed at Xander's throat, but backed off after a moment, wrinkling his nose. “He still kind of stinks, though. Both of you, take him upstairs. I want you to wash him off and bandage those wrists. After that, take him to my chamber and get everything there ready. Oh, and he might be out of it for a while; watch that he doesn't faint in the tub or something and crack his skull open. I want him in tip-top shape when I get there. If he's even a tiny bit uncomfortable, if even one corpuscle is missing, I know a couple of minions who are going to be very, very sorry. Understand?”

“Yes, Sire,” they chorused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it for this week. Love it? Hate it? Wonder what's going on? Please let me know in the comments.


	25. Symbols and Guides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which desperation makes people try to do things they normally wouldn't.

Xander hadn't meant to go along quietly; it just kind of happened. Maybe he was still feeling the effects of the chloroform, like 'Brad' thought, but he preferred to blame Spike—the old Spike, the one that now only existed in his head. If he hadn't been so busy telling him, 'See? I am too a nummy treat,' it might have occurred to him that being hauled off upstairs was his cue to start kicking and yelling. But no, old Spike had said, 'Get out. That tosser's an embarrassment to vampire-kind.' To which Xander'd had to answer, ' _So_ not the point...'

The inner argument continued until they reached the master suite's bathroom, and by then Frick and Frack were holding him a little more loosely. They also seemed to think he was still too dozy to fight. It wasn't much, but it was something. With any luck, it could be more, now that his hands were tied in front of him instead of cuffed behind his back. Now, if he could just get a sharp piece of wood when they weren't looking...

Being bathed (in 'Brad's own huge, claw-footed tub with his lavender-scented soap and shampoo, no less) was deeply weird and very, very uncomfortable. The last time he'd been subjected to that indignity was when he was around five—he didn't exactly remember—and to add to the 'fun' he got to listen to 'Frick's wingeing about their sire's selfishness and Frack's crude comments while they stripped and washed him. He already knew what they'd do to him given half a chance; he didn't need the soundtrack. What made his teeth ache the most was that it would have been so easy to make them at least let him wash himself—a little of his blood on them and the threat of the wrath of Brad... And that would be the end of any hope of getting away. Right now, they were lulled. Threats would un-lull them pretty damn quick. So no threats. He could only continue to do his best 'spaced-out' impression and watch for his chance.

Finally, the bath ended, and they pulled him to his feet. He stood still and passive while Frick wrapped him in a fluffy, royal blue bath sheet. Frack opened the door to the bedroom and went out.

“I'm starving,” he said. “I'm going for a drink.”

“Get me one?”

Frack flipped him off and walked away. They heard the hall door close a moment later.

“I hate that guy so bad,” Frick muttered. He guided Xander into the bedroom and sat him on the bed, leaving him to look around while he went to light the fire.

The décor of Brad's bedroom... er, “chamber,” was as grandiose as Brad himself: huge fireplace, king-sized four-poster bed draped with red and gold brocade curtains, the ubiquitous marble floor, an antique Victorian bedroom set with matching chairs, a huge, round Chinese area rug in the middle of the room, and a set of built-in bookshelves made of some kind of dark wood that matched the paneling on the walls. The chairs offered some possibilities. If Frick left him alone in there for a minute, he could smash one up to use for stakes... It'd be noisy. He'd have to be ready to move pretty quick. Too bad there weren't any books around he could light off in some vamp's face (Brad's, if he had his choice) now that he knew he how, but the shelves were empty, except for some bric-a-brac and dust. Xander doubted that Brad read much. He seemed more the cheesy horror movie type. Sigh. The only thing in here that was going to burn was that pile of logs that Frick was messing with. What was Latin for 'wood,' anyway? Pinus? It sounded kind of dirty. Woodus? Dirty and stupid. That time on the beach when Willow lit the fire, what had she said? 'Agnes incende' or something like that.

“Agnes incende,” he whispered, unthinking.

“Huh?” Frick glanced around. “What?”

Xander stared at a spot over his head.

After a moment, he turned back to the logs in the fireplace and resumed clicking his lighter, or whatever it was.

'Too bad I'm magically declined,' thought Xander. 'It would have been perfect because he's got his hand right in there. Willow almost set me on fire that one time, and I'm not even a vamp. Woosh! Poof! Oh well, at least I can talk without dribbling now. I just can't do magic. No, I _can_ do magic. I've done it twice. By accident, but I should be able to do it again. I guess I said it wrong. Why don't they tell you in school, “Learn dead languages; they can save your life?”' He sighed. 'Who'm I kidding? I couldn't even learn French. This is great. I wi—I mean, if had a Latin dictionary, I could look it up... On the other hand, if I had a Latin dictionary, I could set _it_ on fire. New saying: “Give a man a dictionary, and he can set it on fire; teach a man Latin, and he'll set _anything_ on fire.” That's really dumb. It makes more sense with fish. I don't suppose one of these clowns would give me a book if I said I was bored and wanted something to read... Naw.'

Frick finally gave up. He stood up and glared at the long, metallic object he was holding in his right hand. “Fuck.” He went to the door, opened it and yelled, “It's not working.”

Xander heard Frack's fainter yell echoing back from down the hall, “Didn't you light the fire _yet_?”

“No! This damn thing's out of gas!”

“I'll just run out to the corner store and get some more for you... Oh, wait, I won't. Use a match, you brainless twat.”

“Asshole,” Frick grumbled. He dropped the device on the bed—it looked a little like a gun with a purple plastic grip and a long, thin steel barrel—and he started going through his pockets. He seemed upset. Xander managed to keep the smirk off his face, but some of his amusement must have leaked through because Frick paused to look down at him with a sour smile.

“You think it's funny? Just wait 'til after you rise, and then we'll see if you feel like playing with matches.”

After he… What?

“Hey, don't worry, if you're a good boy, it won't even hurt—much. Not nearly as much as what happened to that old guy you were asking about.” Frick looked wistful.

Oh, no. He could _not_ mean...? Oh, no, no, no.

“Being a vampire is great. After you rise, you'll be super-strong, and you can live forever, as long as you're careful. And if you do everything our sire tells you. You'll—”

No. Xander saw what would happen. First, he'd dust Brad, and that would be cool. After that, he'd head to Cleveland. Of course he'd turn Willow before she found out what'd happened to him. He wouldn't be able to afford to leave anybody who knew how to ensoul him alive. Would she still be able to use her magic? He wasn't willing to bet against it. Skanky Evil Vampire Willow with magic. That'd be nice. Not. Giles knew a lot; he'd be a very useful lieutenant. He'd turn him too. Then the three of them would kill Robin, Faith and the rest of the slayers, all the while pretending to the rest of the Council that everything was fine. Once everybody was dead, the only thing left would be to wait for Buffy and Dawn to come back... Alive or for-real dead, he had to get out of this.

“—a lot,” concluded Frick as he searched for something else to light the fire. There were no matches in his pockets. There weren't any in the night table or in the dresser either. He picked up his lighter-gun-whatsit from where it lay on the bed and pulled the trigger one last time. There was only a 'tick' sound. No flame. Not even a spark. It still didn't work. Balked, he dropped it back on the bed and left it there as he went to the door to shout to Frack again.

'Too bad this thingy isn't working,' Xander thought as he gazed down at it. 'That would be something, if it did. Yeah, sure. "Here, Mr. Victim. Please take this and set me on fire with it?" Not a chance in hell a vamp would just hand over a... What do you call these things, anyway?' He sighed and picked it up to get a closer look. That was when he saw the word on the side of it.

Igniter. This was a 'butane gas igniter.'

Ignite. To set on fire.

Not 'agnes,' 'ignis.'

Not 'wood,' or whatever the heck 'agnes' meant. ' _Ignis_.' Fire.

************************************

“I don't know...” Kennedy frowned down at the puddle of tea on the table in front of her as she stirred it with her finger. “Does this guy take in strays a lot too?”

Emmett choked on his cocoa. “Brian?”

“Good,” she said, satisfied.

He hadn't meant to imply... “That wasn't what I meant. He talks tough, but that's mostly a cover. He's actually very thoughtful.”

“How close are you two, anyway?” Andrew's slight pout suggested that he'd really meant, 'Is Brian an old boyfriend?'

Emmett hastened to reassure him. “Oh, we're just good friends. He was one of the first people I met when I moved here, and we always got along. Not everybody does, with Brian... And they know that, don't they? What about the tap on his phone?”

Kennedy nodded approvingly “Now you're getting it. We'll have to look out, but I'm hoping they'll think they've got him covered good enough already and aren't paying any more attention to him than that.” She slid out of her seat. “I'll call Willow; let her know where we're going, see if she has any new ideas.”

“OK,” said Andrew.

“Um, Brian's place is at least five miles away from here,” said Emmett. “I don't think...”

“Me neither. Good point. I'll call a cab too. We'll walk the last couple, three blocks.”

Andrew and Emmett finished their drinks and paid up while they waited for her to come back, about five minutes later, and then they went to the door to wait for the cab. They didn't talk much; Andrew asked her whether Willow had come up with anything, Kennedy only said, “Yeah,” and refused to say more. Emmett supposed it was a case of walls having ears. After the taxi dropped them off, they walked the last few blocks keeping a careful look out for vampires. Andy showed him how to watch for them in windows.

“Anybody who doesn't reflect is probably a vampire—”

“Probably?” Emmett asked.

“There are other things...” Andrew began, but a look from Kennedy quelled him. “...which I'll tell you about later.”

'Well,' thought Emmett, 'that would certainly explain how fashion-challenged some of the vampires I've seen so far are...'

With the street lights all lit, it had been easy to see the reflections of the few hardy souls who'd ventured out in the bitter cold, clear night. Emmett was almost disappointed that everybody they saw reflected. He'd never seen anybody who didn't before.

“Are you sure this works?” he asked. “I don't see anything strange.”

“Yes,” Kennedy answered. “If there were any vamps near enough, I'd feel them.”

“Excuse me?”

Andrew drew a deep breath, and with a serious tone said, “The Chosen Ones are gifted with—”

Kennedy put her fingers over his mouth. “Quiet.”

“Oh! Rude.” Emmett frowned at her.

“I need to concentrate and you're distracting me. Both of you: Shut. Up.”

They shut up and stayed shut up until arriving at Brian's door. There was no answer when Emmett knocked.

“Are you sure he's back?” Kennedy murmured.

“I heard he was. There. Try the handle. He usually leaves his door unlocked when he's home.”

The handle turned easily.

************************************

“...have to do fucking everything around here,” Frack grumbled. “Here.” He thrust the book of matches at Frick, and seeing their prisoner holding the igniter, shouldered him aside to grab it out of Xander's unresisting hands. “You idiot!  What the hell do you think you're doing, letting him have this?”

Frick rolled his eyes and went to kneel at the hearth. “It's. Not. Working. He can't do anything with it. Hey! These are too short.”

“So roll up some paper and light the end of that.”

“I don't have any paper.”

Frack breathed out a why-am-I-surrounded-by-idiots sigh, and looked around. There were some newspapers in the wastebasket next to the dresser. He pulled one out and held it toward Frick. “Paper.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. How about bringing that over here?” said the kneeling vampire.

Grudgingly, Frack complied. And then, in spite of Xander's urgent prayers, he showed no sign of going back to his drink. Instead, he stood on the hearth looking down and kibitzing as Frick tried to light the fire with a long twist of paper.

'Crap,' Xander said to himself. 'This is... This could be even better. If the spell works, I can get both of them.' He waited until he was sure Frack wasn't going to move away.

“Ignis incende,” he whispered.

Nothing happened except that they turned to look at him. Frick looked puzzled.

“He said it again.”

“Said what again?”

Xander stared at the patch of wall over the fireplace. They waited for him to repeat himself, but when he didn't, they went back to trying to light the fire.

“That wizard called,” Frack grumbled. “A good thing for you, too. You're taking fucking forever.”

“It wasn't me that broke the starter,” said Frick.

“It wasn't me either. Fucking Bert.”

“That was sweet, how he hollered when the Master took his eye out tonight.” Frick grinned.

Frack grinned back. “What a pussy. Shit! It keeps going out.” He leaned over the logs to get a closer look. “You're doing it wrong. You've got to put it right in the middle.”

Frick sighed and tore another match out of the book. “Gimme another one.”

Meanwhile, Xander was working on his own problem with starting a fire. Why hadn't it worked? Did he need to do that hand-waving like Willow had done? Maybe he had to say it out loud like he meant it? Or maybe it was mental, and how would that work? Maybe all three? They were still there, right in front of the fireplace, but the moment they got one flame going, they'd back off. On the other hand, if this didn't work... Xander took a deep breath to calm himself. He tried to imagine that the logs were a new work crew that he was explaining the job to and held his hands out to them.

“ _Ignis incende!_ ”

************************************

Kennedy had only slid the door along it's track by a couple inches when the handle was wrenched out of her grasp as the man inside yanked it the the rest of the way open. There was Brian, finally, leaning against the door jamb and glaring down at her like an angry Greek demi-god in gray sweatpants.

“Walk on in, why don't you?” he said. He sounded pissed off too. Maybe they'd caught him in the middle of something.

“Hi Brian!” Emmett smiled as brightly as he could. “It's so good to see you!”

Brian sneered. “He blabbed, didn't he? Forget it. I don't want you here. Go home.”

“What?” Emmett said, the smile falling from his face.

“And this is a friend of yours?” Kennedy ducked under Brian's arm, strode over to put the weapons bag on the coffee table, and began to rummage through it. “You're right. They'll never look for us here. Get in and shut the door.”

“Wait! What are you doing?” Andrew darted in after her as Emmett—much more slowly—did as she'd said. After a couple steps, he stopped and sniffed. “What's that smell? Is that pot?” He turned and looked accusingly at Brian.

“Yeah. Want some?”

“No!” He turned back to Kennedy. “Hey! That's _Xander's_ crossbow! What're you doing with that?”

She continued to pull items out of the bag and arrange them. “Taking it to him, I hope. Willow said she had an idea. I have to get ready.”

Soon, a curved sword hung at her hip from some kind of harness, and a quiver of arrows had been slung on her back. She looked like she belonged in a pirate movie or _The Lord of the Rings_. What made it even stranger was that Andrew seemed to think all this was perfectly normal.

“Good. What's the plan?” he said, reaching for the bag.

She pushed his hand away. “The plan? The plan is you stay here and watch these two while I go get our boss back. You! Emmett's friend! Where's your biggest mirror?”

Brian only stared at her.

“Where is it!”

“It's in the bathroom,” said Emmett. “Through the bedroom there, on the left.”

“You can't leave me here. I—”

“I have to.” A few loping strides took her to the left-hand entrance to the sleeping area, one more up over the steps to the bathroom door. Andrew, still protesting, followed her as closely as he could.

“Feisty wench, isn't she?” Brian sighed and pulled himself up. “Golly gee, Em, it's nice meet your new friends. Aren't they due back at whatever renfair they escaped from?” He turned follow the others up to his bed. He was limping.

“Brian?”

When he stopped and turned back, Emmett could see that a fine sheen of sweat covered his face. He looked pale. He looked sick.

“What?”

“Are you all right?”

Brian stared at him. “He _didn't_ tell you?”

“Who didn't—”

Emmett's question was cut off by Andrew's startled squawk from the bathroom. Heart leaping to his throat, he dodged around Brian to go see what was wrong this time. Everything appeared normal... until he got close enough to see the mirror. Normalcy left for Disneyland then, for the woman in Brian's mirror was not the one standing in front of Brian's bathroom sink. Check Kennedy, brunette; check the mirror, a pale red-headed girl in her early twenties. Kennedy was touching the glass and gazing longingly at the stranger; the stranger's eyes were closed and her mouth was moving. Her hands were stretched, palms-up, out in front of her.

“Now, that's different,” said Brian, looking over Emmett's shoulder.

************************************

The artificial logs that are used in gas fireplaces can't actually burn.

But they can try.

They began to glow dull red.

************************************

Emmett stared at the mirror. “Who...?”

“Willow,” said Andrew.

Kennedy, her eyes fixed on the mirror, gestured them back with a short, sharp wave. “Here it comes.”

“What?” asked Emmett.

A moment later his question was answered when a sparkling green point of light winked into existence above the red-head's palms. It hovered there for an instant as she spoke to it and then it darted through the mirror toward Kennedy. It didn't stop there, though. Like a wasp with a mission, it zipped around the three men, out the bathroom door, and kept going until it reached the door to the loft. It hovered there, dancing (Emmett fancied) impatiently.

“ _What_ is _that_!” he yelped.

Kennedy pushed past them to follow the green spark. “It's a guide. It's going to lead me to Xander— _if_ I can keep up. Andrew, I _need_ you to take care of things here, OK? Don't let anybody invite—”

“OK. I know. Hurry!”

“I'm gone.” As soon as she jerked the door open, the green spark darted through, with Kennedy racing after. She left the door open behind her.

When Emmett looked back at the mirror, the red-headed girl was gone. The mirror was normal again, except that the place that the green light had come through was marked with a black spot about the size of a quarter. The silver on the back had been burned.

Brian sighed. “Swell. I guess this means I need to get a new mirror.” He walked backward a few steps and fell spread-eagle onto his bed. After a moment, he pulled one of the pillows over his head.

Emmett wasn't feeling nearly as mellow. “What—how did she _do_ that!?”

“I told you,” Andrew shrugged, “She's Q.”

“You said she was Q as in James Bond, not Q as in _Star Trek_!”

Andrew didn't seem to have an answer to that. He shrugged and went to shut the door instead.

It was about then that they saw the first flash of lightning.

************************************

A deep rumbling noise woke him this time.

Ow.

Ow, ow.

Not again.

He tasted blood. Blood... vampires!

Gasping in shock, he forced his eyes open. He was in the same room, lying on the same bed... still wrapped in the same damp towel. Still alive, to judge by his pulse pounding in his head.

He smelled singed hair.

And blood. His nose was bleeding. What...? Oh, yeah. He'd said the spell, and the vampires had turned to look at him again, and the logs had glowed red, and…

And he'd suddenly felt as weak as a strand of boiled spaghetti. He must've passed out. Where were Frack and Frick? They'd been right there. Had they gone to get Brad? The fire was burning now, but it didn't look like it should have. They wouldn't have both gone, would they? Moving as quickly and quietly as he could, he dragged himself out of bed and staggered to the door to set the deadbolt and put a chair under the doorknob. There. That should slow them down a little.

Now that he was a little safer, he sat on the bed again and began to gnaw at the knotted cords around his wrists. It didn't take long for him to free himself, and finally, he could go over to the fire see what had happened.

It wasn't anything like what he'd expected. There were no burning logs. Instead, the flame he'd seen from the bed was shooting out of a black pipe that protruded from the firebox wall on the right. The end of the pipe had been melted off. Just below the jet of flame, the floor of the fireplace was covered with some black goo that reminded him of Kennedy's most recent attempt at making brownies. Fortunately, the firebox was set low enough in the hearth that only a little of the molten liquid had run over, out onto the marble floor, where it had solidified into a clumpy blob. Xander could feel the fierce heat coming off it radiated to his bare feet from half a step away; a warning not to come any closer.

The heat hadn't stopped him from stepping in the dust, though. Two familiar-looking heaps of it lay to the right and left of the blob. Frick and Frack hadn't gone to get Brad after all.

“The _hell_?” he muttered. “Whoa. What happened here? I did that? How did I do that? What did I do?”

He stared at the flame, musing until a bright flash from behind the window curtains and another crack of thunder started him from his reverie. He'd figure this out later; 'Brad' could be coming to get his treat any second now.

When he went to look out the window, he saw that he was on the third floor looking out over a wide lawn. The driveway he'd arrived at earlier snaked off to the right. Also? It had started snowing. And not just a few flakes either. That hadn't been in the weather report. Lightning flashed again, and then thunder. It seemed to be coming closer. He had to leave.

But not wrapped only in a big towel. He wouldn't make it to the end of the lawn like that. Moving more easily now, he went back to the bathroom to retrieve his clothes. Frack had shoved them all—including his coat—in the laundry hamper when they were stripping him earlier. His work boots had been kicked under the sink. He took a moment to stuff a twist of tissue paper up his nose before tiptoe-ing back to the bedroom. What did a vampire need Kleenex for anyway?

He dumped his clothes on the bed and pulled a chair in close to break for stakes if his time ran out, and started dressing. It was a bit 'ick' to be all freshly scrubbed and have to get back into his dirty, wrinkled clothes... But it'd be a lot more 'ick' to hang around and see if he'd be strong enough to refuse to drink when Brad offered eternity. If only his head would stop pounding.

“I was Vlad the Impaler's emissary,” he muttered, pulling on his shirt and pants. “I'm darned if I'll be 'Brad' the Imbecile's... whatever. Besides Drac was way cooler than this turkey and he respected me. I know, 'strange and off-putting' may not _sound_ respectful, but he noticed me as a person, dammit.”

He finally tied his bootlaces, stood and pulled down the bedspread.

“Black satin. Of course,” he muttered. “These're going to make a sucky rope. Oh, well.”

He tied the  sheets together at the corners and then tied one of them off on the bedpost.

“The Amazing Xander Harris, escaping by romantic cliché since 1997. I hope this works like it does in the movies.”

At least the bed looked like it was put together right. Probably one of the few things in this god-forsaken hole that was. And what did that say about 'Brad's priorities? Grinning to himself, he dragged a corner of the bedspread toward the fireplace. It didn't quite reach the flame shooting out of the pipe, but the blob on the floor was still hot enough to ignite it. He watched long enough to make sure the fire wouldn't go out, but it only blazed higher as it crept toward 'Brad's bed. _Now_ he was ready to leave. He put on his work boots and coat and went to the window to lower his makeshift rope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Xander is busy helping himself and he's even expanded his skill set (though he's not out of the woods yet), and our gang has finally met Brian. I hope I got his voice right.
> 
> Questions? Critical feedback? Please let me know in the comments!


	26. Escapes and Rescues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which almost everybody is frustrated or bewildered.

Xander only almost fell and broke his neck once. If he ever had to escape like this again, he'd have to remember that 1) satin sheets were really, really slippery, and 2) untied corners that flapped and blew in the wind were hard to get a grip on. So next time, tie more than just the one knot. Also remember to check below for more windows, stupid. That there wasn't anybody in the two rooms he went past was just blind luck.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, his feet touched the ground. He ducked past another window and made for the driveway, cursing the high wooden walls around the sides and back of Brad's plot that were rapidly acquiring a coating of slippery, wet snow. If he'd had his druthers, he'd have gone over one and then out through a neighbor's driveway, but as weak as he felt, he didn't dare risk slipping and breaking a leg in the attempt. There wasn't anything about to use as a ladder either. He hid behind some shaggy, overgrown pfitzers and took a moment to rest his spinning head against the side of the house as he looked around the corner for sentries.

A branch of one of the bushes he was lurking behind had been partially broken off by a snowfall from the roof earlier in the winter. He snapped it off the rest of the way and started stripping the smaller twigs and prickly dried leaves. Several of them stuck his palm and fingers. It was OK; the pain helped him focus. The fresh scent of his improvised stake was pleasant too... He'd never done anything with juniper before. As soon as he could, he'd have to see how workable it was. He peeked around the corner of the house again, frowning against the wind as it blew wet snow in his face, and considered whether it would be wise to try to thumb a ride this close to a vampire's lair.

And here was a possible ride now... Or possible minions of Brad. The internal argument while he dithered was decided when the approaching headlights turned and the car they belonged to pulled up to Brad's mini-mansion. Dilemma solved. This wasn't going to be his chance to hitch a lift out of trouble.

Xander heard the front door open. A moment later he saw Brad walk out to the car as a somewhat heavy-set middle-aged man in a black overcoat got out of it. The black fur hat the newcomer wore framed his face like a bonnet for an evil baby, an impression enhanced by the petulant set to man's mouth. The sound of the engine died away as they nodded to each other.

Brad spoke first, in clipped, cool tones. “Well, well. This is quite an honor, Mr Maddison. I certainly wasn't expecting you to come so soon.”

Maddison. So this was one of Machida's ex-Masters of the Universe. And here he was cahooting with demons again. It didn't look like he'd learned his lesson at all. Xander would have to see if he could do something about that. But first... He leaned out a little more and cupped his left hand to his ear in an effort to hear everything. The same wind that was pushing the snow into his face picked up the sound of their voices and brought them straight to him.

“Where is he?” Maddison peered around as if he expected Xander to be produced forthwith. “Has he said anything yet?”

“He's upstairs. And no, not yet. He got a little too much chloroform, and we have to wait until he recovers from that before we can ask him anything. Two of my minions are tending to him. They'll let me know when he's ready. Trust me, he'll tell me everything he knows.” Brad made as if to turn away.

“Like the late Mr. Dent?” Maddison said sharply. Brad turned back to face him. “As I recall, that did not work out nearly as well as you'd expected.”

Brad waved this away. “Don't worry. I won't be taking any chances this time.”

“If you're thinking of turning him? Don't.”

Brad was still for a moment, and then said so softly that Xander could barely hear, “Are you telling me that I can't have him?”

Maddison threw his hands up. “Oh, no, no, no, no! Of course you can have him—”

'Gee, thanks. You asshole,' thought Xander.

“—But before you do, there are some tests that must be done.”

“Tests?”

“The wardrobe.”

“Ah... “ And then more sharply, “You're insane if you think I'll risk losing him like all those others.”

“He means that much to you? Interesting. But, I don't think we need to worry about that.”

“Oh, really?”

“The others were completely outside Dent's circle... I have reason to suspect our results will be different with Harris. Believe me, I don't want to lose him either; he's our first contact in nearly two years. We'll take every precaution.”

Brad was silent a moment. “I'm coming with you.”

The middle-aged man shrugged. “Fine. How soon do you think he'll be ready?”

“It shouldn't be too much longer.” Brad turned toward to his door, but seemed to have second thoughts before going in. He turned back to the man. “Would you like to come in before we go? Perhaps a glass of wine while I send for him?”

“Why not?” Maddison asked. He shut the car door, locked it before following Brad into the mansion.

Alright, _so_ time to get out of here. Xander leaned forward to peek further into the front yard and—

“Hey!

Wha—”

The hand that had gripped his shoulder with no warning spun him back around, and all the months of self defense training and years of living with danger guided his reaction. Without a second's hesitation, he turned into the pull, adding force and extending his new stake. Before his conscious mind caught up, he'd buried it in the chest of a man in a dark green parka. The man stared at him, eyes and mouth round with shock.

Xander just had time to think with dull horror as his trained reflexes automatically pulled the stake out, 'Oh, God. He's not dust. Why isn't he—' And then the man dissolved. He'd missed the heart going in; he hadn't missed coming out. Xander took a shaky breath and bolted for the street. He felt like he was running in molasses.

************************************

Most people wouldn't dare go into a vampire's lair, Wheatly Maddison reflected as he sat in one of the parlor armchairs, settling his coat around himself, but he had two advantages: the protective charm he'd put on the moment he'd received the call telling him they'd bagged Dent's purported associate, and the fact that said vampire was such a—an upstart. 'Master of Pittsburgh—but you can call me The Master,' indeed. It galled him to have to call him that, but he'd refused to tell Wheatly his real name. Even merely thinking of him as "The MoP" was unwise. Most of the time, Wheatly managed not to.

A minion who had acquired a bandage over one of his eyes since the last time Wheatly had seen him, presented the bottle for inspection: a '90 Faiveley Mazis-Chambertin. Wheatly nodded his approval, and the minion uncorked the bottle and poured the ruby wine, first for him, and then his master. They all sniffed appreciatively as the rich, wild scent filled the chill air. Wheatly had often wondered whether The Master liked to show off his lack of human weakness by leaving his human guests to suffer in the cold, or whether he just didn't have a clue how to turn on the central heating.

“Leave the bottle, Bert, and go have Harris brought down in, oh, about ten, fifteen minutes,” said the chief vampire. Bert nodded and left, closing the door softly behind him.

Wheatly held his glass by the stem to avoid warming the wine as he tasted it. “Nice burgundy, this. Must have cost a bit. How much was it?”

“Nothing to speak of.” The Master smiled thinly. “I think I have a few bottles left lying about. Would you like me to send them home with you?”

Feeling obscurely stung, Wheatly only grunted and continued sipping his wine. After a moment, he remembered to ask, “Did you have a chance to try out that amulet yet?”

“Oh, yes,” The Master said, his smile expanding to a grin. “It works beautifully. I'm sure those two will know better than to interfere with m—with us in the future.”

“Good.”

They sipped their wine again, and then the Master put his wineglass on the end table next to his chair. “I'm curious. What makes you think you'll have different results this time? In a year and a half we've gotten nowhere.”

If he was coming along, there was no reason not to tell him... He might even be more willing to lend Mr. Harris if he knew some of the truth. “There's been a change in the appearance of the wardrobe.”

“Ah?”

“Symbols on it that weren't visible before. They're obviously some kind of writing.”

“And you're hoping my acquisition will be able to tell you what they mean? I still don't see why he needs to be alive to do that.”

Wheatly suppressed his instinctive exasperated response. “The marks are only visible from a few inches away.”

“And even if one of Dent's spells is fading, we can't be sure the rest aren't still as strong as ever? I see. Well, that's simple enough to test; I'll bring a new fledge along, and we'll see how close he can get before he bursts into flames.” The Master frowned and picked up his glass for another sip. “I sometimes wonder if Dent wasn't even more powerful than we'd given him credit for.”

“Really?” asked Wheatly, wondering what the vampire's first clue had been.

“He should not have died so quickly.”

Idiot. “Pfeh. He was old; he had a weak heart. Your minion just got too enthusiastic.”

The Master scowled. “If there'd been anything wrong with his heart, I would have heard it. His heart was fine.”

“You think he willed himself to death?” asked Wheatly. The Master blinked at him insolently. Wheatly shook his head. “That is a very difficult thing to do; it goes against every human and animal instinct.”

“Yes, and yet he died for no reason I could see. That's why I'm going to make sure Harris dies on my terms. We underestimated the old man, my _friend_. A little more caution earlier would have saved us a lot of lost effort... And manpower.”

Wheatly thought, 'Like you care,' but he only said, “most of them turned up again.”

“Yours did. I, on the other hand, lost a valuable servant. I still haven't replaced him.”

“I thought there were three or four.”

“Only one that mattered.”

Wheatly shrugged. “You can always make more—”

“That's my plan,” the Master murmured, and drained his glass.

“Mine aren't so easy to come by, and they get harder to retrieve each time we experiment. The one last November hasn't turned up since, and the one before that wound up in Finland. Lucky for her it was summer.” He sighed. Getting her back into the US had been a red-tape nightmare...

“Was she able to explain—”

“No. And now she pretends to be out whenever I call.”

“Hmm...” the Master rubbed his mouth, not quite hiding his smirk, and then looked thoughtful. “What about your friend? What does he think of all this?”

“What?” Wheatly said, a surge of rage making his hand clench on his wineglass. “I ask him for money, he gives me money. He doesn't think— He doesn't care about anything but that shrew he married.”

“Does that bother you?” The Master asked, leaning back in his chair in a pose like some sort of parody psychotherapist.

“Of course not!”

“It shouldn't. Not as long as—” Whatever he'd been about to say was cut off by the door being slammed open.

“Sire!” Bert gasped. “They're gone!”

“What?” The Master flowed up out of his chair. “Report.”

“When I got to the room, I couldn't open the door, so I kicked it in. They're gone! They must have taken him out through the window. And—”

“So hard to get good help these days,” said Wheatly.

“What else?” snapped The Master.

“They set the room on fire before they left. We can't stop it.”

“Hell and the devil!” The Master stood a moment in furious thought. “Get everybody out into the yard. I'll be there in a minute. Check the garage. See if they took any of the cars.”

Wheatly stood up. “Well, I guess I'll be pushing off. Happy hunting.”

“Here.” The Master picked up the wine bottle and pushed the cork back into its mouth. “You might as well take this home and enjoy it. No, take it. I insist.”

Wheatly took it with the best grace he could manage. “Why, thank you. Let's finish it after you catch your fugitives. I only hope it doesn't go sour by then.”

“I'm sure it'll be fine,” The MoP said through tight lips.

Wheatly turned to leave.

************************************

His legs had started to burn, but he pushed himself along the slick sidewalk as quickly as he could go. Thanks to Giles and his 'therapy,' he could go a lot farther than he'd been able to this time last year, but… He'd have to make the most of it. At best it would take them ten minutes before somebody found Brad's 'chamber' empty and in flames, they'd be in full cry on his trail. He stopped a moment and leaned against a signpost for balance as he glanced back. The snow was falling faster now, but the lightning seemed to have stopped. He couldn't see anybody, no cars were coming up behind him yet, the falling snow was quickly covering his tracks... But it probably wasn't thick enough yet to hide his trail completely. He resumed running at the fastest jog he could manage, and started trying to flag down the oncoming cars. There weren't many. It was late, and the weather had gone well past 'shitty' to 'downright dangerous.' It occurred to him that if he didn't reach some kind of shelter, it wouldn't be the vampires that got him, but the cold. He could wind up frozen to a sidewalk like the late, unlamented Del Bucket.

The sixth or seventh car he waved to, a dark 2-door Pontiac, pulled over. Xander leaned forward huddled in his coat as the passenger-side window was lowered. The driver was about thirty, he guessed. The crown of his head had gone bald, and the fringe of dark hair surrounding the bald spot combined with his chubby pink face and dark gray raincoat kind of made him look like Friar Tuck—or rather some friar who was not as jolly as Tuck, but who could at least drive a car.

“I'm headed downtown...” Xander said.

The driver gestured him in. Xander opened the door, and the inside light came on, showing the driver's distorted reflection on the windshield. Not a vampire, then. He got in and shut the door.

“Nasty weather, huh? I'm Xander.”

“Frank,” the driver answered. He sounded preoccupied.

Xander caught the belt after a moment of fumbling and closed it as the car eased forward. Forward back the way he'd just come. Shit. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea... But his only other choices had been to keep on running until they caught him, or go to the other side of the street and flag down the cars coming _from_ the direction of Brad's lair. Hopefully, they'd turn off onto one of the side streets before they reached it. They continued on in silence. Maybe Frank really was a monk. Maybe he'd taken a vow of silence. Monks did that, right? Xander checked to make sure his door was locked and then alternated between watching Frank, who seemed to be completely absorbed in driving, and watching the sidewalk.

They'd gone about five blocks when Xander saw three of four dark shapes following his footsteps along the sidewalk. He scrunched down into his seat.

But not even vampires in gameface distracted the driver from watching the road. Neither did the burning house that was surrounded by more vampires. Xander caught a glimpse of Brad gesticulating at his minions as they carried things out through the doors and windows. One of the vampires ran out in front of the car and spread his arms to try to stop it.

“Don't stop!” Xander yelled. “Keep going!”

Frank ignored him. He also ignored the vampire, knocked him back onto the sidewalk and kept on driving. The last Xander saw of that particular vamp, he was standing in the road shaking his fist at the retreating car.

“Whew.” He leaned back and breathed for a good, long time with his arm over his eye. “Ahh... Jeez,” Xander sighed. “Uh, no offense.”

A mile or so later, Frank still hadn't spoken, and Xander was seriously getting creeped out. It wasn't just that the guy wasn't speaking to him, aside from having told Xander his name, he barely seemed to notice there was somebody else in his car. Finally, he pulled up to red light at one of the larger intersections and signaled a right turn.

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. I don't know Pittsburgh, but isn't downtown _that_ way?” Xander asked.

The light changed; Frank turned right.

“No, that's OK. I'll just get out here. Hey! Can you hear me?”

“No,” said a familiar voice behind him.

“Yah!” Xander yelped, and twisted to look into the back seat.

“Can't hear a thing.” Drusilla smiled, showing off every fang. “Hello, Pretty.”

************************************

Kennedy ran. Since leaving Emmett's friend's place, she'd leapt over cars, climbed fences, been chased by dogs, and skidded and slipped everywhere else while barely managing to keep the green spark in sight. Her coat was torn and her jeans were filthy from more stumbles and slips than she could count. And she was getting tired. The guide had changed direction a couple times. At first, it had headed almost due south, but soon after it had swerved west for a little while, slowed and then back east again. Xander was on the move. Good: as long as they were moving him, they wouldn't have time to hurt him. Bad: they weren't moving him _toward_ her. Would it be so awful if the universe cut them a break for once?

By that time cars had gotten fewer, the sidewalks wider, and the snow had gotten deep enough to gain some decent traction in. She pulled in a deep breath and, setting her jaw, poured on the speed. Wherever they took him, as long as he was alive the guide would follow. Kennedy would run all the way to Philadelphia if that's what it took.

************************************

The next conscious thought Xander had didn't occur until he was running back along the road. He hadn't been thinking at all when he'd yanked up the emergency brake, unbuckled his belt, and opened the door while the car skidded to the curb. On the way out, he'd dropped his seat back onto Drusilla, locked his door and slammed it behind him to try to slow her down. All around him was quiet and hushed in the blizzard. To his left and right were houses with wide yards. Up ahead of him, he could make out a wide open area with trees and snow-covered hillocks. Oh, this was not good; the only hope he had was to get somewhere with lights and people... There were lights on in one of the houses to his right. He veered toward it, leaping a low hedge—

“Oof!”

Drusilla tackled him before he got halfway across the yard.

“A-hunting I shall go, A-hunting I shall go,” she sang in his ear. “I told you I would find you.”

“Ptech!” He wheezed, spitting out snow and dried grass. “Why! Why me?”

“You came out of the dark, and then I knew,” she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He would have hit his head against the ground in exasperation if it hasn't been covered with wet snow. “Of course.”

“You shine, you blaze. All the moths love you.”

“Uh, ew.”

“King and queen, knight and squire, all of them burned to ash in the fire.” She raised herself up off him with lightning speed, flipped him onto his back and settled on him again gripping his wrists in one delicate hand. She wriggled in a very disturbing way. Of course it was disturbing, not... It was disturbing. “And none's left to save us.”

“Save _us_?” he squeaked. “' _Us_?' Don't you mean 'save _me_?' Or save 'you,' 'you' being 'me?' I mean.”

“Yes. Shh, sweet.” The sad expression sat strangely on her ridged and fanged face. “Isn't this life horrible? Mummy and Daddy feared you, hated you,” She stroked his face with her free hand. Xander really didn't like the way her fingertips drifted around his remaining eye. “For in the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man must die.”

He panicked then, bucking and twisting, but couldn't throw her off. She held him down, rode him until he tired of struggling.

“Now that's harsh,” he panted. “And _my_ father didn't hate me.”

“Did 'n' all. 'Wrong, bad, bad, wrong'.” She licked his face from his chin to his earlobe and then hissed, “Such a hard voice he had, and a hard hand when you'd seen as you shouldn't. 'That devil's spawn is none of mine!' he said, and you wept.”

“He never said that!” She couldn't really know if he'd ever... Could she? Oh, for crying out loud! 'Devil's spawn?' The day Tony Harris had talked like that would have been never, 'cause Tony Harris just didn't talk like that! And if he'd ever thought his son wasn't his son, he would have said so plain and right in his face because that was the kind of asshole Anthony Harris was. “My daddy—Dad—he doesn't—he didn't—he _never_ — In fact, shut up about my dad!”

She nodded, shaking off her demon, and lay a sharply-nailed finger across her lips. “Shh. He'll hear. _De mortuis nil nisi bonum_. We don't want _him_ coming back too, no. Did someone speak ill of you, sweetheart? Or was it the blackberries in summer, how sweet they were? When mummy made blackberry tea when you were sick of the flux and Nan told you stories of knights and princesses. Is that why you're here?”

OK, back to the regularly scheduled crazy-talk. Much better. “Uh, no.”

“Blood on the walls and your sisters all dead. Did you remember?”

Not better. “...No.”

“Look, and I'll show you,” she whispered, and held up her index finger in front of his eye.

“No!”

As hard as he tried to turn away, she caught his gaze in the end.

“See. Remember.”

************************************

“Deedle-do-dee-doo-deedle-doo-doo-d the phone trilled in his coat pocket. It played the silly jingle again several times before he woke up enough to manage to fish it out.

“Yeah?” he asked, drowsily.

“Frank? Frank! Where the hell are you?”

“I'm, um...” He looked around. “I was going to stop for milk...” He'd walked into the 7-11 and... What? And why was the passenger door open?

“Forget the milk.”

“But—”

“We'll have tea instead. Just come home, honey. The weather stinks.”

“OK.” He looked around. “About ten minutes?”

“Drive safely.”

“You too,” he said.

She giggled. “Silly guy. 'Bye-bye.”

“Love you. 'Bye.”

After they hung up, he tried to remember how he'd come to be there. God, he hoped he wasn't getting Alzheimer's or something like that. The emergency brake handle poked him in the ribs when he leaned across the passenger seat to shut the door.

************************************

“Haaaah!” Xander wheezed through paralyzed vocal cords a lifetime later, when the vision cleared away.

“They were so pretty...” she murmured.

He could only stare at her.

“Red and gray,” she said.

“Pretty! They... He... They...” He cleared his throat. “OK, just what in the name of little green Martians was _that_? And can I get some bleach to scrub my brain out? 'Cause that? Was... Yechh!”

She sighed. “A gross offense beyond penitence or understanding, crying for blood.”

“You _would_ say that, wouldn't you. So what now, you want mine, right?”

She glared down at him running her tongue over her blunt teeth. “Want yours. Want that fire drumming in my heart again.”

Xander had had a very long day. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he yelled. “Why don't you just shut up and take it? I don't need to hear this stuff from you, and I really didn't need to see that crap!”

Her mouth and eyes curved down and her chin trembled. “I miss my daddy,” she whined.

“Oh, for—!” Xander took a deep breath, trying to suppress the twinge of pity her sad expression made him feel.

“He knew how to hurt me just right.” Sadness faded into anger. “Until _you_ stole him.”

“What! I did not!”

“Did!” She snarled and leaned down to bite as her face shifted... and sat back on her heels again, angry and baffled. “Naughty. You shan't catch me like that.”

“ _I_ shan't?” It occurred to him that Drusilla wasn't merely crazy, she was from some kind of Bizarro universe, a whole new world of off-center.

“How should I undo you?” she muttered, letting go of his hands and laying her hands along his temples. “Snap, crack.”

He grabbed her wrists. “No, no, no! You want to break my neck and miss all that yummy yumminess?”

“Poison cake,” she whispered, tensed— And hissed in anger as a green spark appeared between their faces. It exploded like a miniature firework, blinding them both for half a second. The next thing he knew, she'd thrown herself to the side, and a crossbow bolt had buried itself in the trunk of the birch tree behind her.

“That's right!” said Kennedy. “Party's over, and it's time for all good little vamps to get dusted.”

Drusilla rolled away and up to her feet before Xander even had time to blink. “Slayer.”

“And you don't even have to smile when you say that.” Kennedy drew her sword and charged.

Drusilla was not as easy to catch as the average fledgling; she dodged as lightly as thistledown. “And what will you do?” she laughed. “Break him in pieces and share him out among you?”

Kennedy paused. “What?”

“Don't listen to her!” Xander called out. “She's nuts! Just slay her!”

“Right,” she said, and renewed her attack.

But as fast as Kennedy was, Drusilla anticipated every move... And she hadn't been running for the last hour. When fatigue caused Kennedy to slip on something buried by the snow, the vampiress was on her just as she hit the ground, knocking her sword out of her hand. She caught Kennedy by the hair on the top of her head.

“Look at me,” she said.

“Get bent!” Kennedy punched her in the gut, but kneeling as she was, she couldn't put enough power to it.

“Look at me!” Drusilla snarled. She pulled the slayer's head back with one hand, raised the other to strike...

Pow! Xander's snowball only distracted her for a second, but it gave Kennedy enough time to pull herself out of danger, leaving only a hank of hair in Drusilla's fist. Another snowball caught her on the shoulder, but before she could deal with the one who'd thrown it, the slayer had retrieved her sword. Drusilla was crazy, not suicidal. Her chances of beating these two together were not good... She'd vanished into the snowstorm before her opponents realized she was thinking of running away.

Kennedy leaned on her sword. “You OK?”

“Yeah.” Xander sat back on his heels. “You?”

“Yeah.”

They sighed.

“Thought I told you to go back to Cleveland.”

“Would have. Couldn't.”

Xander took a deep breath. “Where're the guys?”

“Left them with a friend of Emmett's. They're safe.”

“OK, good.” He pulled himself up. “Is it far?”

“A bit.”

“Let's go then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drusilla knows exactly what she means; it's probably a good thing for Xander that he doesn't.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! Questions, comments and feedback are all welcome!


	27. Inventions and Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everybody finds out stuff that seems pretty much pointless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialog from this chapter was copied from an episode of QaF, but here I imagine it as having taken place under slightly different circumstances than in the original setting.

They caught a late-running city bus headed northeast after Xander had wrapped his crossbow up in Kennedy's muffler. It wasn't going all the way where they needed to be, but it got them out of the cold and it was faster than walking. They got off in front of a 24-hour grocery right after the bus turned east, toward downtown, and stopped at the phone bank in front. The phone at the PMS Palace rang once.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Hi, Giles?”

“ _Xander! Oh, thank God! Are you all right?_ ”

“I'm fine. I set Brad's house on fire and got away, and then Drusilla caught me, but Kennedy stopped her and now we're going to a safehouse. Some friend of Emmett Honeycutt's? Kennedy doesn't remember his name.”

“ _Oh. Um, yes, quite... Well... Whew. Er, Kinney, I think._ ”

“What?”

“ _Brian Kinney. That's the name of Mr. Honeycutt's friend._ ”

“Oh. Is Willow there?”

“ _Yes, yes. Just a moment._ ”

Xander heard the phone being passed, and then, “ _Xander! Are you OK? Did Kennedy find you? Did it work?_ ”

“Yes, yes and maybe. Did what work?”

“ _Aradia's guide. I sent it through a mirror. I thought it worked, but I couldn't be sure. There wasn't a spell and I had to make it up myself._ ”

“Is that what that green spark thing was?”

“ _Ya-haa! I rule!_ ”

“You _so_ do.” He was silent a moment. “It saved my life. Drusilla was about to snap my neck, and it went off in her face like a flashbulb.”

“ _...Drusilla's there?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah. Anyway, we're OK, but we can't call you after we get to Kinney's place. Is there anything new about anything?”

“ _Not rea—oh! Giles figured out the writing on the wardrobe._ ”

“Great! What does it say?”

“ _Mmmmmm... I better let him tell you._ ”

Xander waited while Willow's distant voice called to Giles. Kennedy glared at him and held her fist up to her jaw with the thumb extended up to her ear and pinkie pointing at her mouth—the universal 'give me the phone!' gesture.

“She's gone to get Giles—” Xander began.

“ _Hallo?_ ”

“Hi! Willow said you'd figured out the writing?”

“ _What? Oh, yes. I'd forgotten in all the excitement._ ”

“Excitement? What happened?”

“ _You were kidnapped by vampires. Surely you must recall something of the sort._ ”

“Oh, yeah. That excitement. And how sad are our lives that I'd already forgotten about it?” Xander grinned sheepishly. “So? What did it say?”

“ _Ah. I was rather disappointed at first, but it turned out to be more interesting than I'd thought. Listen to this:_

 _`You may seek it with thimbles -- and seek it with care;_  
_You may hunt it with forks and hope;_  
_You may threaten its life with a railway-share;_  
_You may charm it with smiles and soap -- '"_

 _("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold_  
_In a hasty parenthesis cried,_  
_"That's exactly the way I have always been told_  
_That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")_

 _"`But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,_  
_If your Snark be a Boojum! For then_  
_You will softly and suddenly vanish away,_  
_And never be met with again!'”_

Xander had to second that 'rather disappointed.' “That... That doesn't really sound like a magic spell.”

“ _It isn't. It's an_ _excerpt_ _from_ 'The Hunting of the Snark' _by Charles Lutwidge Dodgson_.”

“The what? Who?”

“ _You'd know him better as Lewis Carroll._ ”

“ _I_ would?”

Giles sighed. “ _Alice in Wonderland?_ ”

Yes, Xander did feel like that, now that Giles mentioned it. “Huh?”

“ _Charles Lutwidge Dodgson wrote_ Alice in Wonderland _under the pen-name Lewis Carroll. What do they teach you children in school nowadays?_ ”

“I don't think they teach _that_. OK, so Lewis Carroll, right.” He considered this a moment. “No, still not making sense.”

“ _Well, it does, actually, but you have to look at it from the right angle—literally. It was something you said that gave us the last piece of the puzzle._ ”

“Uh-huh. This ought to be good.”

“ _It is, it is! First of all, you need to know that Lewis Carroll was not merely the author of a few amusing children's books. He was also a respected_ _mathematician._ _That should have told us what we needed to know right then, but we just didn't see it._ ”

“Oh? OK...”

“ _Fortunately, Willow's, er, 'Google-fu' is very strong. When I finally told her what you'd said about the design on the wardrobe doors being something mathematical rather than mystical, all other clues being exhausted, she started searching for that. And she found it. The design is actually an isometric projection of a fifth dimensional hypercube—a hyper-hypercube, as it were; a tesseract plus one dimension. And that was it_!”

“Tesseract? Those are real? I thought they were just something in some kids book.” He couldn't remember the name of it, which was really too bad. He'd kind of liked it. Willow had made him read it...

“Oh, yes. They're quite real—insofar as mathematical constructs can be called 'real.' Tesseracts don't actually have any inherent magical properties—not more than any other mathematical construct. Although, now that I think of it... Hmm...”

“Giles?”

“ _Mm?_ ”

“Think of it later. What did Dent _do_?”

“ _Sorry. Well, when you take the symbolism of other dimensions into account, and the oblique references to traveling_ to _them—_ ”

“Alice in Wonderland!”

“ _Yes, yes. And also the line, 'softly and suddenly vanishing away'... Do you remember the lore I told you about that suggests apple wood could be used for that purpose? There you are. It all fits, you see?_ ”

“Of course. Not. Words of one syllable, please?”

“ _Very well. We think Dent designed the wardrobe for the purpose of generating a kind of pocket dimension to keep his books in. Or possibly a wormhole to a safe storage place. We're not too sure on that point._ ”

“Oh, wow...”

“ _Indeed. The magical energy it would take to do that is simply mind-boggling._ ”

“That's so... That's so cool,” said Xander. “You pop all the magic books into the magic wormhole, and there they are whenever you need them. Perfect.”

Giles was silent. Xander knew that silence; it meant something had just gone sideways.

“ _Oh, bloody hell,_ ” he said after a moment. The cheerful energy had left his voice.

“There's a problem?”

“ _Yes, I'd say there is. What happens when incompatible types of very strong, and possibly unstable magic are forced too close together?_ ”

“...I don't know. What?”

“ _Nothing good._ ”

“Oh.”

Giles continued grimly, “ _The results could be explosive. Only somebody totally ignorant, irresponsible or insane would take that kind of chance. Dent was none of those._ ”

“Which means...”

“ _We've spent the last five days deducing the one place on Earth where his library won't be._ ”

Xander winced. “He could have put the un-magicked ones in there...”

“ _The ordinary reference books would be useful for us, but if they fell into the wrong hands, there is very little actual damage that could be done with them._ ” Giles sighed. “ _It's rather like the difference between being able to summon Gachnar and 'ascending,' the one being merely a nuisance; the other, catastrophic. No, they aren't the ones I'm worried about._ ”

“Well, look on the bright side; the bad guys are even further from finding them than we thought they were.”

“ _Only until they figure the wardrobe out themselves. They've had nearly two years to work on it. They can't be completely thick._ ”

The unpleasant thought that Brad and company could be just 'thick' enough struck Xander. “Giles... What if they didn't figure it out enough? What if they try to put something in there that doesn't belong?”

“ _Oh, dear._ ” He considered this a moment, and coughed. “That _could explain why so many of the woods Dent used had protective properties. I'd wondered._ ”

“And the warning on the wardrobe doors. Dent probably booby-trapped it six ways to Sunday to keep the wrong people from using it.”

“ _Or mis-using it. That makes me feel a little better, I suppose. Nevertheless, it would behoove us to regain possession of it before something unpleasant happens._ ”

“And at least we know where it is... Which is more than I can say for the books.”

“ _Yes, we're back to square one on them._ ”

Xander sighed and looked at Kennedy, who was glaring at him. “Listen, we'd better get going. Do you want to pass the phone to Willow before Kennedy takes it away from me and smacks me upside my head with it?”

“ _Will do._ ” Xander heard him calling, “ _Willow! It's Kennedy_!” on the other end.

Xander held out the handset. “Here,” he said.

She snatched it out of his hand and put it to her ear. “Finally! Oh, baby, that was great! ...”

Xander discreetly moved away to look in the store window until they were done.

************************************

The rest of the way to Kinney's apartment was an endless slog. The snow did not let up; it was up to their knees by the time they arrived. If Kennedy was tired, Xander was exhausted. He braced himself against the wall as she tapped on the door twice, and it rolled aside. They went in.

“Xander, my friend!” Andrew threw his arms around him and hugged him. “You're safe!”

After all he'd been through that night, it was easier to just let Andrew hang there. Kennedy rolled the door to and started locking it.

“Shhh!” hissed Emmett, who was washing something in the kitchen sink just off to the left. “You'll wake them up.”

“Yeah, you don't want to wake us up,” a low, angry voice said. A moment later a slender youth wearing pajama bottoms emerged from the windowed area straight ahead—probably the bedroom. His short, cowlicked blond hair and the scowl made him look like an irritated hedgehog.

“ _Don't_ lock that,” he hissed. “You're not staying...” His voice trailed off as he got a good look at Xander. “Oh my God, it's you. Where did you go? And what happened to your eyepatch?”

“'Where did I go what?” Xander stared back at him for a few beats before he recognized him. It was the waiter from that diner he'd eaten at just before the whole mess with Lyle and the cops looking for him had begun. “Eyepatch? I put it somewhere...” He leaned back against the door and looked around vaguely.

“It's in your pocket, dorkbrain,” Kennedy said as she slid the deadbolt home.

He put his hands in his coat pockets. It wasn't there.

“Pants pocket,” she said.

“Oh. Right.” He thought about taking his hands out and unzipping his coat to get at the eyepatch, but then he'd have to move. “Why didn't you tell me I was all walking around like...?” 'Naked.' The word was 'naked.' Or maybe it wasn't.

She scowled. “I didn't notice.”

“Where did you go!” the waiter said through his teeth, trying to be quiet and forceful at the same time.

Xander didn't get what the guy was asking. He was a cryptic guy. One of those waiters that speak in riddles, like in snooty French restaurants—which Xander knew better than to go to a place like _that_. You'd try to order c _anard à l'orange_ and they'd bring you _la plume de ma tante_ by way of passive-aggressive criticism of your outrrrraaaageous non-French accent _._ On top of _le bureau de mon oncle_ if they were feeling especially sarcastic. And then that bald guy with the plate of _fromage_ would say some more cryptic shit about cheese not protecting him, and his dad would show up and rip his heart out, and what was all that crap Drusilla had been talking about anyway...

“Hey!” the waiter said.

Xander snapped out of his doze. Oh. Riddles.

“What's yellow and goes 'bzzzzzzzzz'?”

Willow had told him that one in third grade; it used to crack them both up for some reason.

Mr. Cryptic Waiter stared at him, mouth open like a non-plussed goldfish. His honor on the field of riddle-battle defended, he leaned back against the door to take the weight off his sore feet. That felt good, so he slid down until he was sitting on the floor to take the rest of the weight off. That was even better. Xander shut his eyes, folded his arms on his knees and put his head down.

************************************

Brian's first thought on waking had been to wait until Justin gave up on getting Emmett and his friends to leave and came back to bed, but he was getting co—thirsty. And Emmett wasn't going to leave. Sure, he might act sweet as pie, but that was just his southern charm. He didn't back for anybody—and if his little nutcake friend wasn't deluded about those goons trying to kidnap him, well then Brian wasn't about to make them leave anyway, even if he did feel like absolute shit. He sighed, got up and padded down the steps out of his bedroom, yawning, rubbing his face and doing his best not to limp. He thought it was getting easier. That renfair chick was back, and there was a dark-haired guy huddled on the floor in front of the door with his head on his arms. Brian yawned again and rubbed his eyes with his fists.

“Maybe ev'rybody should shut up 'n' go to bed so I c'n get back to sleep.”

The new guy mumbled something into his coatsleeves.

Brian lowered his hands to look at him. “OK, who's this?”

“I don't know, but he rescued Melanie,” Justin said.

Brian _'s_ gaze traveled slowly from the man on the floor to Justin. “Rescued...”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Last week she came into the diner? Somebody attacked her down the street. Turns out he's a serial killer; Horvath called him 'The Cowboy'. This guy over here stopped him.”

“Shit! Is she—”

“She's fine,” Justin said and shut his mouth, which—my, oh my—was not like him. At all.

“Goodness, yes,” added Emmett brightly. “If you're attacked by a vicious monster and the worst thing that happens to you is you get dropped into a garbage bin, I'd say you came out just peachy.”

Brian stared at him and then turned back to Justin just in time to see his lover making a 'Cut!' gesture across his throat with his forefinger.

“Oops,” said Emmett in a small voice. “I wasn't supposed to mention that, was I?”

That explained a lot. For the first time since the operation, he felt a surge of hot, unholy glee. Brian held up his hands. “Wait. Melanie Marcus, hot-shot lawyer and the great dyke hope herself got put in a garbage can?” For a second he tried to stop the smirk that was trying to spread itself across his face, but then wondered why he bothered.

Justin, on the other hand, was looking distinctly shifty.

“Sunshine, I do believe you've been holding out on me.”

“She made me promise not to tell you,” he muttered.

“'Cause she knew I'd think it's hysterical.” The smirk widened into a full-on grin.

“And you'd be an asshole about it.”

“Well, God knows, it would be just wrong to disappoint her.” Brian smiled blissfully until he suddenly remembered—“Michael didn't say anything either.”

“She didn't want to worry him.”

“For _her_ you'll keep your mouth shut? That's nice. That's really great.”

Justin's expressive lips tightened into a thin line. “ _She_ asked me to. And to tell you the truth? I forgot about it. I had more important shit to worry about.”

“Well. I'm flattered.”

“You should be.”

They glared at each other until the renfair chick shook the guy sleeping in front of the door by his shoulder. “No therapy. Don' wanna,” he whined.

“No therapy.” She nudged him again. “But you can't sleep there.”

“Can too,” he mumbled.

Brian sighed. “Just put him on that,” he said pointing at the futon next to the coffee table that still had renfair chick's bag on it. “Florence Nightingale here can get you some blankets and shit. I'm going back to sleep.”

He was out again by the time Justin got back to bed.

************************************

Bacon?

Now, this was better than the other times.

Coffee?

Better by far. He still felt like a mob of clowns had beaten him for several hours with whiffle-bats, though.

He pulled down the quilt somebody had covered him with and looked around. He was in a large room—some kind of converted loft, to judge by the blue-painted columns supporting the ceiling. Sunlight poured in through the high windows—this was not a vampire-friendly room, he noted thankfully. And he was not a vampire, so score one for the good guys. Coffee would be good too. The sounds of pots and pans clanging and three voices arguing over what should go in the omelet came from somewhere in the direction of his feet. He recognized Andrew's voice, and then Emmett's. After a moment, he peeked out to see who they were talking with. Some skinny, short blond guy holding a spatula. Oh, yeah. The waiter.

“You don't have to use green _and_ red peppers,” the waiter was saying.

“Hey, guys?” he asked as he pushed himself to a sitting position.

Andrew turned as if yanked by the arm. “Xander! You're awake! How are you feeling?”

“OK. Where are my clothes?”

“We threw them away,” said the waiter. “They were wrecked.”

“What!”

He grinned. “Just kidding. They're in the laundry. I'm Justin.”

“Xander. What am I supposed to...” He waved at his bare torso

“Don't worry about it; I saw it all last night. It's not like you've got anything to be ashamed of.”

“Um... Where's Kennedy?”

“I'm over here,” she said, off to his right. “And do I want to see your ineffable pinkness? No.” She got up from where she'd been sitting in front of a large-screen TV and walked over to him. “Here.” She picked up something gray that was sitting on the coffee table next to their weapons bag and tossed it into his lap. “Emmett's friend coughed up a pair of sweats for you.”

Xander scrambled into them after she turned and went back to the TV. “Any chance I can get some of that— Oh, thanks,” he said, taking the steaming mug from Andrew. It was sweetened exactly how he liked it. “What time is it?”

“Going on for nine,” said Emmett. “Ms Drill Sergeant over there decided to skip the death march this morning since you two didn't get in 'till three.”

“Oh, good.”

“Hey,” said a new voice. “Morning.” A tall, pale, dark-haired man was standing in the doorway of the raised area that was separated from the main room by what looked like windows. Xander guessed they were windows. Otherwise, why cover them with venetian blinds?

“Your omelet's up,” said Justin. “Hungry?”

“Fuck, no,” said the guy, and backed into the 'bedroom.' Another door was closed a moment later and there was the sound of running water. Xander guessed the tall guy had gone to the bathroom. Probably not a morning person.

“Well. That wasn't very nice,” Emmett said.

Justin shrugged. “You want it?” he asked Xander.

“You bet!” Xander scrambled to his feet. “I feel like I—Oh, man. I haven't had anything since lunch yesterday. I'm _starv_ _ing_.” He accepted the plate and fork and started shoveling it in. He'd swallowed two or three bites before it occurred to him to sit down on one of the high chairs at the cooking counter.

“Those... people you were with last night,” Emmett began. “They didn't...?” And oh, boy, could Xander guess what Emmett wasn't saying.

“They invited me for dinner, but I didn't like what was on the menu. Downright allergic in fact. That was really great. Can I have another one?” He looked hopefully at the frying pan in Andrew's hand.

“She-who-must-be-obeyed is up next,” Andrew said.

“Damn skippy!” came Kennedy's voice around from the alcove where the TV was. “And don't make it all runny. I hate that.”

Andrew didn't respond to her beyond sticking his tongue out in her direction. “We made corn muffins with bacon and scallions too. They'll be—”

“Everybody quiet!” She called out. “Xander's on TV!” The TV's volume increased suddenly, filling the loft. The four men scrambled over to see what was going on, Andrew still holding the frying pan.

“ _...from a downtown police station parking garage yesterday evening. Police have declined to comment on whether The Cowboy may have been responsible...”_

“Wow, that's your picture,” breathed Andrew.

Justin frowned. “I got the hairline wrong. And your ears don't stick out that much.”

“You drew that?” asked Andrew. “That's really good.”

“Thanks. I—”

“Sshhh!” hissed Kennedy.

“You're right about the ears, tho—”

“Zip it!”

“ _...Mr. Alexander LaVelle Harris of Cleveland—”_

Kennedy stared at Xander. “LaVelle?”

“Shut up,” he suggested.

“— _also wears sunglasses.”_ Justin's original drawing was abruptly replaced with another version.

“Jesus!” Justin scowled. “That's got to be the worst photoshopping job I've ever seen. They've totally screwed it up.”

Xander was horrified. “I don't look like that, do I?”

“No, those glasses are too small—”

Kennedy jabbed Justin's arm. “Quiet!”

“ _... any information leading to Mr. Harris's and the kidnapper's whereabouts.”_

“Kidnappers?” asked Justin.

“ _Very disturbing news, Pamela,”_ the male newsanchor said.

“ _It certainly is. We can only pray that Mr. Harris is safe, wherever he may be.”_

“ _Indeed.”_ He looked grave. The backdrop behind him changed from Xander-in-sunglasses (looking like a dimwitted gangster, in Xander's opinion) to video footage of firetrucks rolling through a snowstorm at night with all lights blazing. “ _And yet, this is not the only disturbing story we have to report this morning. Late yesterday evening, the calm of a usually quiet suburb was broken by the sound of fire alarms. It seemed to be ...”_

“I guess that's it,” said Kennedy, and pointed the remote.

“No!” said Xander. “We need to hear this.”

“ _...but when they arrived on the scene, firefighters made a grisly discovery.”_ The image shifted from snowy night to grey pre-dawn, and the camera panned from the smoldering wreck of a mini-mansion, across a snow-smothered lawn to a garage, and then a garden shed. Ambulance crews were wading through hip-deep snow in the trench they'd trampled through it, carrying black, plastic-shrouded bundles away on stretchers.

A reporter in a down jacket was asking one of the firefighters, “ _What was your thought on finding the bodies, sir?”_

“ _I... It... It was the worst thing I've ever seen.”_ The young firefighter blinked rapidly and stared at the camera.

The scene cut again to perhaps an hour later. The same reporter was now talking to a serious looking older woman in a parka.

“ _We are talking with Detective Carla Jones from the Northumberland Street Police Station. Just who is responsible for this, Detective?”_

“ _We are working on several leads, but nothing definitive as of yet. The owner of this house, a Mr. Charles Thierry, has not been seen since last fall.”_

“ _According to his family, or...”_

“ _His neighbors.”_

“ _Is Mr. Thierry a suspect?”_

“ _It's too soon to tell. He might have been a victim._ The portrait of a round-faced man in his fifties filled the screen, a face most remarkable for the redness of his bulbous nose and cheerful expression. “ _At this point, we are looking for any information as to his whereabouts.”_

The camera cut back to the studio. “ _And now we are all asking ourselves, 'is this the face of a killer'?”_ asked the anchorman.

Xander snorted. “Not hardly,” he said bitterly.

“ _Chilling, Peter. Simply chilling.”_

“How would _you_ know?” Justin asked.

“ _It is indeed, and, speaking of chilling—”_

“Because—”

“— _have yet to explain last night's freak snowstorm—”_

Xander turned back to the TV. “Whoa. Hello?”

“— _centered between Schenley and Frick Parks has covered Pittsburgh and the area in a radius of about hundred plus miles around it in several inches of snow. Depth reached up to five feet at the center of the storm.”_

Pamela frowned. “ _The Thierry residence's neighborhood, by a strange coincidence.”_

“ _Yes, and thousands of travelers have been left stranded by the sudden_ _icy_ _conditions and the many traffic accidents it has caused.”_

“ _But fortunately, no fatalities,”_ said Pamela.

Peter gave that fake chuckle they use when stories aren't actually bad, but aren't really good news either. “ _No. By this time of year we're all ready for Mother Nature to hand us some surprises.”_

“ _That lightning was pretty surprising.”_ She nodded with a bright, plastic smile on her face. “ _My cats are still hiding under my bed.”_

“ _One good thing though,”_ he said. “ _Several avid cross-country skiers and snowboarders are taking advantage of the weather at local university campuses and parks.”_ The backdrop changed to a scene of rolling snow-covered hillocks and several people in snowsuits enjoying themselves. A genuine smile lit his face.

“ _And your plans for this afternoon would be...?”_ Pamela asked.

“ _I'll give you three guesses, Pamela,”_ he said, “ _and the first two don't count. We'll be back after this commercial break.”_

“Lucky guy,” grumbled Justin. “ _Some_ of us have to work for a living. OK, what's this about you being kidnapped?”

************************************

They were gone the second time Brian woke up, thank Christ. He remembered Justin coming into the bedroom and saying something about having to do some shopping. He'd kissed him on the forehead and tucked the quilt up around his shoulders, and Brian had said something about not being a girl. Silence had fallen after that.

Maybe he could fix some oatmeal or something... He pushed himself out of bed, wandered over to the kitchen and began searching for something to eat after gulping down a glass of water. No eggs, no bacon—not that he wanted any—nothing but three cans of beer and Justin's carrot-apple juice. Nasty shit, he thought normally, but right now it looked kind of good. He shook it up before opening it, and sipped straight from the bottle. Not so bad. He'd nearly finished it when Debbie opened his door.

Brian sighed. “I got to start locking that thing.”

“Fuck you too,” she said, and snapped her gum.

Shit. Could he have thought of a worse thing to say? Well, yes. And he'd said that too; he still felt the bruise on his jaw to prove it. This was not how he'd wanted this conversation to go.

“Sorry. A bunch of people kind of walked in on me last night and they just wouldn't leave.”

“Was one of them Emmett?” she asked eagerly.

Danger, Brian Kinney! “ _Emmett_ , I wouldn't mind,” he equivocated. “Why?”

“You ain't seen him?”

“Not so much. I, uh... I've kind've been staying in...”

She looked at him coolly, but Brian thought she was softening a bit. “You pick up some bug in Ibiza?” she asked. “You look like shit on toast.”

“I didn't... I didn't really go to Ibiza.” And here was his chance, before she left. Making it right would only get harder after this. “I shouldn't have said that. About Vic.”

Debbie glared at him. “You're damn right you shouldn't have said that! Yeah, he was lucky he got those extra years. But it was the way you said it, just tossing it off like it didn't mean a thing! Like his whole fucking life didn't mean a thing!”

“I know.” He rubbed his jaw. “It was an asshole thing to say. I see that now.”

“Yeah? So why didn't you see it then?”

The moment of truth...“Maybe because I didn't know I had cancer then.”

“What!”

“You going to make me say it twice?”

“I just want to be sure that I heard...”

“You heard it.”

“Shit! Are you—? Are you all right?”

Brian snorted. “They think they caught it early enough, but who the fuck knows?”

“Oh, Jesus! How do you feel? Are you getting enough rest?”

“I keep having these dreams.” Starring Vic—which Deb did _not_ need to know about.

“Well, force yourself. Don't go to work until you're good and ready. And make sure you eat. You hear me? You got to keep your strength up.” A suspicious look crossed her face. “What did you have for breakfast?”

He held up the nearly empty juice bottle. “Um...”

“That?” Disdain curled her lip. “That wouldn't keep a rabbit alive.”

“It was the only thing that looked good.”

“Well, you got to do better than that. Eat some soup or something.”

“Yes, mother.”

Debbie paused. “Does she know?”

“No,” Brian shook his head. “So far, just Justin and Michael. And Ted.”

“And nobody told me?”

“I'm telling you.”

“How come?”

He grinned wryly. “So you'll forgive me and take pity on me, of course.”

“Sonofabitch.” She hugged him. “You're going to be OK, you hear?”

“Yeah, I think I will.”

She sighed. “Listen, I got to go. If you see Emmett, tell him to call me.”

“Will do.”

“And take care of yourself, damnit!”

“I always do.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, and shut the door behind her.

He finished the juice and put the bottle on the counter. A shower would be good— “Shit!”

“Hi,” The dark-haired guy with the eyepatch huddled on the futon under a pile of quilts and blankets said. “Sorry about... Um... I was asleep, and then I couldn't let Debbie see me.”

“Why aren't you out shopping with the rest of them?” growled Brian.

He shrugged. “Too many people looking for me, and I need to not be found. Hence the hiding under the blankets. And hey, I'm _really_ sorry about that.”

“Shit happens. So how about forgetting you ever heard anything?”

“Sure! I can do that. Never let it be said that Xander Harris is a nosy Parker. Or any kind of Parker. Uh... Thanks for not telling her about Emmett.”

“He asked me not to. And anyway, I don't need his new boyfriend smashing up any more of my appliances.”

“No,” said Xander. “We certainly don't... Wait, what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have guessed it; the scene I borrowed the dialogue from QaF 4-10 to write was the one where Brian apologizes to Debbie and tells her about the cancer.
> 
> I haven't been able to insert any images, but if you want, you can check out some graphs and other information about 5-cubes at the Wikipedia pages: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/5-cube. You can see I the one I imagine Dent having chosen as the basis of the design on his wardrobe door here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/5-cube#/media/File:5-cube_t0.svg and the one I colored in with wood tones here: https://www.dropbox.com/home/Public?preview=1274590.png
> 
> Unfortunately, my job is getting busier these days, so I won't be able to post the next chapter for 2 or maybe 3 weeks. That's all for now, but remember to drop a line if you have comments or questions!


	28. Sight and Insight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brian tells it like he sees it.

The guy with the eyepatch—Xander—regarded the wreckage of Brian's telephone with dismay.

"He got the one in the bedroom too.”

Xander prodded the tangle of plastic and wires with his forefinger. “Oh, gee.” He sighed. “We'll totally pay for those.”

"No shit. Was that little weirdo right about it being bugged?”

"'Fraid so.”

"And they're after _Emmett_?”

"Yep.”

At least it was a change from Ted being the one in trouble... Brian shook his head and waited for Xander to say more. He didn't care what was going on. Really.

Xander's mouth quirked up in a lopsided smile. “You're a good friend, I think.”

He was _not_ — Brian inhaled sharply. “He owes me for this. The next get-together I throw? He's catering. Free. Of. Charge.”

"Hey, I got no problem with that.” Xander seemed to think that was the end of the matter. He drifted over to the wall near the coffee table and began to examine some long strips of paper that somebody had blue-tacked up around and between the windows.

"You put those up?” Brian asked.

"Naw. My friends must have done it while I was sleeping. Give me something to do when I got up... This is great,” Xander said, with his back to the room. “You got nice high ceilings here. I couldn't really see the full effect where we were staying before.”

Brian looked at him and went to sit on the futon, shaking his head. He didn't know if it was the sleep, the juice, or having it out with Debbie, but he was feeling almost OK. Tired, but not sick.

"...could use more wall space to stick up the photos, but I like the open feel. All this sunlight's a definite plus. Heh. You do the interior for this place?” He stepped back a couple paces. “Something's not right, though... OK, this one's upside-down.” He looked around, until he spotted one of the armchairs. “You mind if I...”

"Knock yourself out.”

"Thanks.” In a moment, he'd removed the strip of paper in question and righted it. Even standing on the chair, he had to reach up to attach the top edge of it. “There. That should... No. Crap. They're still not right.” He hopped off the chair and started looking at them individually and then in groups. “They're all mixed up.”

"What are they, anyway?”

"Designs for bookcase posts.”

"Pretty big bookcases.”

"Yeah. The guy had a huge collection, from what I heard.” He sighed. “I guess I'll never know now.”

"So, what, you're some kind of carpenter?”

"Well, yeah... Not like this, though. Construction.” He gestured at the drawings. “This is cabinetry. I _was_ kind of thinking about getting into it...”

“But?”

“I got another job offer about a week ago.”

Brian smiled ironically. “And I see you're real thrilled about it.”

“No, I _am_ thrilled...”

Brian leaned back on his hands, looking skeptical.

“OK, that's not the right word.”

“The right word is...?”

“Scared.” Xander's mouth closed like the word had slipped out against his will.

“'Scared,' huh?” Oh, yeah. He still had the old Brian Kinney magic. “So it's what, dangerous?” asked Brian.

“Can be.”

“Hard?”

“Sometimes.”

“Good pay? Bennies?”

“I don't know...” He looked thoughtful. “I guess.”

“You don't _know_?”

He shrugged defensively. “Hey, there's more important things than money.”

“Yeah, like wealth. You know who says shit like that? Mugs and snake-oil salesmen.”

“OK, what do _you_ think I should do?”

“How the hell should I know? Do I look like a guidance counselor?”

“Hah! I hope not. The aptitude tests in high school? They told me I'd make a good prison guard.”

“You do have that certain _je ne sais quoi._ ”

Xander grinned at him.

“Seriously, on the one hand, you have this thing,” he waved at the drawings, “which you obviously like, and on the other you've got an offer to go do something that sounds like it could get you killed and probably doesn't pay enough. Why is it so hard to choose?”

“A friend of mine asked me or I wouldn't even be considering it.” Xander sighed. “I feel like some grunt whose CO just put him in for OCS.”

Whatever _that_ meant. “And you don't want to let this friend down?”

“Yeah. He thinks I could do it OK.”

That put the finger on it right there, didn't it? “And you think you can't.”

Xander chewed his lower lip. “I barely got out of high school. This is not work just any old moron can do.”

“Like any old moron could make stuff like that?” Brian asked, waving toward the drawings.

“ _This_ moron could. OK, maybe not now. Right now, I can't even figure out what order they're supposed to be in without looking at the notes, but in a few years? I could do these and better.”

“But you don't want to disappoint your friend.”

Xander's face twisted like he'd taken a surprise chug of sour milk.

That was enough. “Jesus! Stop being such a pussy! This is _your_ life. Decide what you want to be and _be_ that. Anything else is bullshit.”

“Thanks for the guidance, oh Wise One.”

“I'll be here all week. Try the veal.”

“Yeah, yeah...” Xander turned back to his drawings and reached up to trace the outline of a bunch of small branches. “These just don't look like...” he muttered, and stopped, sniffing. “Whoa. Getting a little ripe here.”

“Shower's through the bedroom,” said Brian.

“Thanks.”

************************************

Somebody knocked on the door after Xander had been in the bathroom about a quarter hour. Whoever it was rattled the handle—Oh, yeah. He'd finally locked it after Deb left, and now he had to go open it. Great. He leaned forward to get up off the futon... Aw, screw it. Justin had a key; anybody else could fuck off.

They knocked again.

They rattled the handle again.

Silence.

And then the handle fell onto the floor.

He was already scrambling to his feet when he saw fingers poking through the hole in the door where the handle used to be, working the latch. The door rolled aside a moment later, just as Brian got there to stop the three women standing there from walking in.

The one who'd opened his door, a girl with broad African-American features looked up at him and frowned. “Who are you?”

“Who am _I_? You're the one who broke my goddamn door! Who the fuck are _you_?”

“Kinney. Gotta be,” said the girl next to the first one. She was the oldest of the group, a brunette with long, wavy hair and heavily mascaraed eyes.

“Hey, that's my name too. Let me guess: you're friends of Andrew's.”

“Yeah, said the brunette. “Sorry about your door. I'm Faith, this is Rona and Zarrah.”

Rona was the African-American, Zarrah was a dishwater blonde with a pointy pink nose.

“He here?”

“No, he—”

Zarrah's mouth fell open, and all three of them abruptly focused on something past his right arm.

“Hey man, do you got any more towels?” Xander's voice sounded muffled. Brian saw why when he turned to answer; his guest had come out of the bathroom wearing only the towel draped over his head. He was drying his hair with it. Nice.

“Yeah,” Brian called back to him. “You need one?”

“'No, I'm good. Whoever's next's going to want one though.”

Rona raised her eyebrows. “Mm-mmm. The things you see when you don't have a camera,” she said under her breath.

“Oh!” Zarrah began to dig frantically in her backpack.

Faith shook her head.

“But—”

Faith frowned.

“Killjoy,” thought Brian.

“Killjoy,” muttered Zarrah.

Xander vanished behind the blinds as he stepped toward the bed, still vigorously toweling his hair.

Brian sighed. “You might as well—”

“Don't,” said Faith.

“'Don't' what?”

“Don't invite us in. Don't invite _anybody_ in,” she said, and walked in.

Brian stared at her and then the other two as they filed in behind her.

“Is there somebody at the door?” called Xander.

“Just some more freaks,” Brian called back. “Friends of yours, I presume.”

************************************

Justin hadn't been willing to bet on it the night before, but Andrew was turning out to be not so bad—just as long as you didn't let him talk and kept him away from weapons. Justin still kept hearing the 'swish!' and 'smack!' of that stick—Andrew called it a cudgel—striking inches from his fingertips. He'd just been calling to tell Debbie she could stop worrying. How was he to know the phone was bugged? And for Andrew to run and break the other one? That was beyond being a drama queen. Worst of all, he'd made Brian have that nightmare about the prom again... Justin was pretty sure that's what it was, anyway; Brian being Brian, he'd never admit it, just like he wouldn't tell anybody he was sick.

So, Justin had been feeling grudgy when he'd tried to kick them out the night before; he admitted it. But when the friend they were waiting for turned out to be that guy who rescued Melanie... Well, OK. That was different. The newscast that morning had put all Andrew's blather about underworld criminals in another light... 'Underworld.' Justin had heard the capitalization in Andrew's voice, like that dumb Kate Beckinsale movie. When he'd complained that they weren't leveling about what was going on after the police announced they were looking for Xander, Emmett had grimaced and said, 'Do, tell.' He wouldn't say any more. Fine. Andrew was Emmett's... whatever he was. Let Emmett deal with him.

“Shit,” said Kennedy softly and put her bags of groceries on the step. She stepped back from the door, pointing at the handle.

Justin felt a shock like ice water being poured on him when he saw that it had been broken off. He drew in a breath to call for Brian, but stopped when Kennedy held her forefinger to her lips. She motioned back to Andrew, who took one look at the lock on the door, put his bag of groceries down and pulled a pink squirt gun out of his coat pocket. A squirt gun? What the hell good would that do? They needed a real one... And Justin's was in the fucking apartment. Fuck.

Kennedy took a sharp stick out of her coat pocket. Holding it in one hand and the squirt gun in the other, she shoved the door open and leaped in—

A feminine shriek echoed back, and then an unfamiliar voice yelling, “Hey!”

Kennedy's reply drifted out the door. “Oh, it's you,” she said.

“Come on.” Andrew rolled his eyes and picked up their bags and went in. Justin and Emmett looked at each other a moment, and followed him. An African-American girl standing in front of the refrigerator was dabbing at her wet T-shirt with a kitchen towel.

“Who's that?” asked Justin. “ Who're you? And what the fuck happened to the door?”

“Rona,” Andrew said.

Kennedy put her hand on her hip. “Where're the others? And the truck? And what happened to the door?”

“It got broke. Faith and Zarrah went to the hardware store for the stuff to fix it.” She focused on the shopping bags. “You guys got anything to eat? The only thing in here's beer.”

Andrew sniffed. “ _We_ got stuff for dinner. Is it dinnertime yet? I think not. Hey! Get out of that! Those're for Xander!”

“I came all the way over here from Cleveland through a blizzard to save his ass; the least he can do is let me have a Ding-Dong.” Rona began to tear the box open.

Andrew drew in quick breath. “Xander went and saved his _own_ ass—”

“Hey, guys. How was shopping?” asked Xander. He was standing in the doorway, behind them, shaking snow off his coat.

“You're not supposed to go out!” Andrew yelped. “What if somebody saw you?” Kennedy and Emmett looked very much like they wanted to say the same.

“I had to go up on the roof for a minute. Did somebody say 'Ding-Dong'?”

“Yeah, want one?” asked Rona, holding up a foil-wrapped cake.

“Bless you, bless you! Oh, chocolaty goodness, come to Daddy!” He fielded it and tore open the wrapper as Andrew glared at Rona. A moment later, he'd broken the chocolate cake in half, and was licking out the crème filling.

Justin blinked. “Where's Brian?” he asked after a moment.

“'Still on the roof.” Xander swallowed, and then said more clearly, “He wanted to look at the snow some more.”

“Oh.”

“He said he'd be down in a minute. You think he'd like some cocoa or something?”

“Yeah...” Justin thought that sounded good too.

************************************

After dinner, Justin had taken Andrew over to the coffee table to show him some sketches while Emmett did the washing-up. The girls, Brian and Xander clustered at the table in front of the TV to try to find a hotel. Talk about your 'mission, impossible.' All the hotels in the phonebook—and the ones Brian knew that weren't—were full up. Too many travelers had been stranded by the blizzard, leaving only single rooms here and there. So what to do? Zarrah was more than fine with all of them squeezing in together, and so was Rona—as long as 'all of them' didn't include the dweeb. But it did. Faith wanted to keep Xander under wraps, but she didn't want to share a bed with him any more, Brian noticed, than Xander wanted to share one with her. He'd bet his last dollar the guy had history with Faith and that it hadn't turned out so good—they had that kind of 'edge' around each other. That was the other problem. So when Xander voted that they all go stay in one of the few single rooms they'd been able to find anyway, Brian was pretty sure he was only trying to move them out because of the cancer.

“Screw it. Find someplace tomorrow,” Brian had said. “I got plenty of room here.”

Xander had just shaken his head at that, and gone to sit near the drawings he'd been studying earlier. At the moment, he was flipping very slowly through the stack of photographs of the bookcase posts, looking preoccupied. It wasn't too hard to figure what he was thinking about either. The renfair chick had shrugged, and kept on turning the pages of Brian's battered copy of The Yellow Pages and phoning with as much luck as before. The rest of the girls decided that as long as they were staying, they might as well try out his cable service. Rona got to the remote first. Her choice? ' _Love, Actually._ _'_ Brian winced and boogied on over to watch Andrew's reactions to Justin's sketchbook—he'd passed the light pink stage, and was well on the way to crimson.

“We really should be going soon,” Emmett said, sitting on the futon next to Brian.

Brian leaned back on his elbows. “No hotels.”

“Oh...” Emmett looked around the loft. “This isn't going to work: not with seven of us staying here.”

“Sure it'll work.” Brian grinned. “I've had 'sleepovers' with lots more guys than this.”

“But _we'll_ actually be _sleeping_ ,” said Emmett tartly. “Or trying to, anyway.”

Justin looked up from the series of 'anatomical studies' he was showing to a wide-eyed Andrew. “That'll be new.”

“Practically unheard of,” said Brian, shaking his head sadly. “A sleepover with no fucking. And broads. The sacrifices I make for my friends.”

Emmett pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “We shouldn't have come here,” he sighed.

“Why? Because I like to throw the occasional orgy? Since when did you join the Church Ladies?”

“It's those guys that kidnapped Xander, isn't it?” asked Justin. “They're after you too, and you don't want us to get involved.”

“Well... Yeah.”

“Jesus, Em! What did you _do_?” asked Justin.

“He didn't do anything,” said Andrew. “He is merely the pawn of Nemesis.”

Emmett cleared his throat. “Would you believe I found a stolen wardrobe?”

Justin's eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. He and Brian looked at each other a moment before turning back to their friend.

“Say again?” asked Brian.

Andrew opened his mouth.

“Not you.”

“I found a stolen wardrobe at a house I catered a party at a few weeks ago.”

“Do you mean to tell us that people are chasing you all over town because of a piece of _furniture_?” Brian shook his head dazedly. “You know, I thought I'd heard everything. I thought life had no more surprises left. How wrong I was.”

Nobody spoke.

“Do you have any idea how fucking _nuts_ that sounds? I mean, _do_ you!”

“Keep it down!” yelled Rona. “We're watching a movie here!”

“I'll tell you what's nuts,” said Emmett in a low voice. “What's nuts is that they murdered the wardrobe's owner for his book collection. They kidnapped Xander because he was asking too many questions about it.”

“And they took the dingus too because, oh, why the hell not, it went with their color scheme?”

“No...” Emmett and Andrew looked at each other and shrugged.

“The late Mr. Dent,” said Andrew softly. “Was a man of great resource and sagacity. He'd hidden his most valuable books so well that it was impossible for them be found. However, he'd also had a wardrobe made with secret writing on the doors. We think it was a clue to where he hid his books, and that his murderers took it for that reason.”

Brian stared at him and then threw his hands in the air. “OK, now? _Now_ , I've heard everything.”

Xander, not looking away from the photograph he was studying, cleared his throat. “Except it wasn't.”

“What?” asked Andrew.

“The wardrobe. Giles and Willow figured it out. It's something different."

“The wardrobe doesn't tell where the books are?” asked Andrew, bewildered.

“Nope. Sorry.”

“But it had that 'oh yay' writing on it,” said Emmett.

“Ogham,” said Andrew. “It wasn’t a clue?”

Xander shook his head. “Not for the books. The bad guys are totally barking up the wrong tree there.”

“Oh... _phooey_.” Emmett looked incredulous. “Monsters are chasing me because I found a wardrobe with a message written on it in the Druid's mystical alphabet, and now you tell me it doesn't actually _mean_ anything?”

Xander shrugged.

“Sucks to be you guys,” said Brian.

“That pretty much sums it up,” said Xander. He flipped the photograph he'd been examining over, and went on to the next one. The apartment was silent, except for the sound of Colin Firth trying to speak Portuguese.

“The Druids had a mystical alphabet?” Justin finally asked, changing the subject. “That sounds kind of cool. What's it look like? Anything like that writing in _The Lord of the Rings_? 'Cause maybe I could use that.”

“For your art?” Emmett shook his head. “No. It's just lines with dots and slashes all over them.”

“Yeah,” sighed Andrew. “If you want something artistic, use Manchu or Ge'ez or Runic. Ogham's not interesting to look at at all.” He looked as though he found the fact to be a personal affront. Or maybe it was the ballyhooed dresser being a dead end that bugged him. Either way.

“I still want to know what it looks like,” said Justin.

Andrew shrugged. “OK, here, I'll show you. It's _so_ easy.” He picked up a piece of sketch paper and a pencil from the table, thought for a moment, and then drew a horizontal line on it. “This is the base line. All the letters touch it. Except 'P'.” He drew a single short stroke down from the line. “This is the first letter, 'beith,' it's 'B.'” He moved his pencil along the line and drew two similar strokes to the right of the first. “And this's 'luis' or 'L.'

“Lweesh?” asked Justin.

“That's how you say it.” He drew a set of three stokes, a set of four and a set of five in rapid succession. “Fearn, sail, nion. 'F', 'S' and 'N'. That's the first aicme. The second aicme goes up from the line.” He spoke as he drew sets of one, two, three four and five upward strokes. “Uath, dair, tinne, coll, and ceirt; 'H', 'D', 'T', 'C', and 'Q'. The third aicme go _through_ the line like this.” Five sets of longer, slanted strokes followed the vertical strokes. “Muin, gort, ngéadal, straif and ruis; 'M', 'G', 'nG'—we don't have that letter in English—, 'Z' and 'R'.

“Uh-huh...” Justin's eyes were glazing over. No fucking wonder—but the stubborn little shit had asked for it.

“The fourth aicme goes through the line too, but vertical, not slanted, and they're shorter than the others. So these are ailm, onn, ur, eadhadh and iodhadh... that's 'A', 'O,' 'U', 'E' and 'I.' Sometimes these're drawn like dots or circles or diamonds.”

“Is that it?”

Andrew sighed. “No. Those are the original ones the Druids used; some more were added a couple hundred years later, after they all died out, 'cause the language changed... Do you want to see them too? They're a little prettier.”

Justin shook his head hastily. “I've seen enough. Man, didn't those guys have _any_ imagination? This looks like you'd use it for—for counting chickens!”

“It does indeed, my artistic friend,” said Andrew. “Deep and mysterious were the ways of the ancient Druids; their secrets were not meant to be written for any man to see. Thus, they used the gift of Ogma, god of poetry, to write laundry lists, and the names of the sacred trees were lent to scribbling on boundary markers and gravestones.” His mouth fell into a pout. “It's like they... They made it boring on purpose!”

“Yeah... 'Sacred trees'?”

“Oh.” Andrew shrugged. “The names of all these letters? They're the names of trees and plants the Druids thought were holy.”

Xander looked up sharply from the photographs he'd been studying.

“Holy trees, Batman!” Justin shook his head. “Well, that's disappointing.”

“Par for the course,” grumbled Emmett.

Justin ignored him. “What's Manchu look like?”

“Oh, you'll like this better.” Andrew reached for the paper again. It's—”

“Andrew?” Xander asked. “Is maple one of the trees?”

“What? Um, no.”

“How about holly?”

“Yeah, why?”

“What about this one?” He held out a photograph of a yellow fan-shaped leaf, leaning forward in his chair so Andrew could see it.

“I—I don't know,” said Andrew.

Justin glanced at the picture. “That's ginkgo. We used to have one in our front yard when I was a kid. Dad had it cut down because the fruit smells like barf.”

“Oh, yuck,” said Xander. “But is it one of the Druid's trees?”

“No, it isn't.” He looked at Xander strangely.

“What about that list from the wardrobe? Any of those?”

Andrew thought for a moment. “All of them.”

“OK...” Xander's voice trailed off as he looked into the distance. “I think I'm having an idea here... Andrew, I want you to write the names of the trees and the letters they go with on there.” He pointed at the paper with Andrew's impromptu Ogham lesson.

“Oh!” Andrew inhaled sharply. “Of course!”

“Right. The rest of you—”

“Guys!” Andrew shouted to to the four watching TV. “Over here!” He turned back to Xander. “I'm—”

The renfair chick called back, “What's up?”

“Xander's found something,” Andrew hollered.

A moment later, the four had joined the group at the coffee table, and were watching Xander. He stood up and turned to them.

What?” asked Faith.

“Remember the writing on the wardrobe doors? The Druid's alphabet was based on the names of twenty trees and plants.” Xander waved toward the drawings on the wall. “Well... plants. And trees.”

The girls looked at each other.

“I'm going to have to google them,” said Andrew. “I don't remember what all of them are. Or what they look like.”

“You can use my computer,” Justin said.

Xander nodded. “Good, thanks. The rest of us—”

“Whoah! Not good!” said Zarrah. “Their line's tapped, and God knows what spyware is on that box. Why the hell do you think we weren't using it to find a hotel?”

“Fine,” said Xander. “Do whatever voodoo it is you do and get a secure connection. Um, I don't mean real voodoo. Of course.”

She rolled her eyes.

“The rest of you, look over these and tell me what leaves or whatever you can recognize, OK?”

“Wait. You thinking there's some kind of message here?” Brian asked.

“Maybe,” said Xander. “There's something about the designs on some of them that just feels 'off.' That could explain it. Don't look at me like that, buddy. I've seen weirder shit than that.”

Zarrah grinned at Faith and Rona as she pulled her laptop out of her backpack, “And you guys didn't think I was going to need these,” she said as she set her cell phone to be a WiFi hotspot. “This is going to be hella expensive,” she added mournfully. "I already used up my data plan."

“Give me the bill when it comes in,” said Xander. “This one's on the council.”

She smiled and cracked her knuckles. “OK, then!”

Xander pulled the chair up to the wall, stepped up onto the seat and began to take the drawings down, passing them to the others.

“Lay them out on the floor so we can see them better. And be careful 'cause the guy who owns these will pound me into mush if anything happens to them”

It became a contest before long. Most of them—not Brian; the only leaf he knew was cannabis—were able to identify a few common plants like ferns, roses, ivy and oak. Justin knew more of them, and so did Kennedy, but Emmett turned out to be the best.

“I used to help my Aunt Dora in her garden. She grew _everything_. Except for this one. And that one. And those ones over there.”

So Andrew still had to do image searches for several of the plants and trees.

It took them a only a short while to realize that only five of the nineteen strips had any of the plants they were looking for. They stopped duplicating each other's results after Brian began sticking post-it notes onto each leaf or branch they found that represented a letter; holly was 'T;' ivy, 'H;' oak, 'D,' and so on. Xander was particularly interested to learn about heather, which corresponded to the letter 'U'.

“It's a shrub! It's groundcover! What's it doing halfway up the post? I _knew_ these looked wrong.”

“Yeah...” Justin looked at one of the branches Xander was pointing at. “You're right. They tried to hide it with the perspective, but this just doesn't belong here.”

They finished about half an hour later:

DERAEFISATSUISITDIASOHUUUOUI  
SEIDDRAEBIMNISTSENRIEHTTLIUBLLAEUAHRIB  
ODDRAEBAHTIUUNAMDLONASAUUEREHT  
EHTNERUUADNASCRALROUFUUOLLOF  
SIHTNEBONEHADNASLUUOOUUTOTTNAUU

Faith stretched, cracking her neck and knuckles. “That's OK. It was kind of a dumb movie anyway.”

“Maybe...” Rona stretched as well, and rolled her shoulders. “OK, it's some kind of code.”

“Ya _think_?” the renfair chick asked.

Xander sighed, “Any of you have a Druid decoder ring in your pocket?” Nobody answered.

Finally Zarrah asked Andrew, “You know any cryptography sites?” and motioned him away from her laptop when he shook his head. “OK then,” she muttered. “Let's see what I can find. If we count the letters...”

Andrew went to examine the drawings. “Uh, guys?”

“Yeah?” Xander asked.

“I forgot to mention? When Ogham's written vertically? You have to read it from the bottom up.”

The message was almost absurdly easy to decipher after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN1: My work is going to keep me reeeeeally busy for the next few weeks, but I have a bit of time this weekend. I hope you all enjoy it! It's going to be next month before I can post the next installment. :(
> 
> (And please let me know in the comments if you have any feedback or concrit.)
> 
> AN2: If any of you'd like to know more about Ogham, It looks like this (if you have the font set loaded) ᚛ ᚁᚂᚃᚄᚅᚆᚇᚈᚉᚊᚋᚌᚍᚎᚏᚐᚑᚒᚓᚔᚕᚖᚗᚘᚙᚚ᚜ or you can see it at the Wikipedia page: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ogham.


	29. No Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is no magic wand, as such.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work is kicking my butt at this point. I'm sorry to take so long for such a short update (especially when it's a revision of what I wrote ages ago) but I'm afraid that it's going to be a few weeks--maybe until the end of the semester--until I can shake loose another update.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> Oh, and the explanation of Dent's clue is in the note at the end.

“I think I hate this guy,” Xander said finally.

Kennedy shook her head. “Birdies? What birdies? There are no birdies.”

They looked at the designs for the other posts; not a bird in sight.

“And what's 'this'?” Faith frowned. “The post?”

“Oh!” said Andrew, raising his hand. “Maybe they're hollow!”

Xander ran a forefinger under the strap of his eyepatch. “Eh, of course they're hollow—I mean the part behind the posts is hollow.”

“So the books could be in there?”

He shook his head. “They could have been, but they weren't.”

“And we know this because...?” asked Emmett.

“The bad guys thought of that too; knocked some holes so they could look back in there... Porter was lucky he had good insurance because fixing what they did was not cheap.”

“But... Look at how big these are,” said Andrew. “I've never seen bookshelf posts that wide. There has to be a reason.”

“Well, yeah, there is. You see this support column here?” Xander leaned over and rapped on the nearest blue-painted steel beam with his knuckles. “Dent's walls had 'em too. He had to decide whether to have Maitlands's crew nail the bookshelves to the old wall, or have the columns go up _through_ the shelves so as not to lose as much floorspace. According to the plans, the rooms were already a bit narrow so...” Xander shrugged. “He had the posts made wide like that to cover the gaps where the columns were. Not everybody likes the industrial look.

Justin, looking at the drawings unrolled on the floor, nodded. “And these shelves are so huge that thin posts wouldn't have looked in scale anyway.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Xander shrugged. “It's a good thought, but it's not the answer.”

“Could it be some sort of wall safe?” asked Zarrah.

“Not built into the shelves.” Xander held up a finger. “There's not enough room behind any of them.” He held up a second finger. “And if there had been a safe there, _they_ would have found it, and—” A third finger joined the first two. “—Dent had a **_lot_** of books; a wall safe'd be too small to put them all in. You'd need one the size of a bank vault for that.”

“Maybe it's a book,” said Faith. “One of those big, old jobbies with a lock on it... Shit.”

Nobody said anything until Andrew asked, “What are we going to do now?”

************************************

A white-haired woman answered the door after he rang the bell for the third time. He guessed she was about seventy; she was wearing flowered slippers and apron, pink-gray cardigan and harlequin glasses. She squinted at him. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“Hello, My name is Charles Simms. I was hoping to see Mr. Wheatly Maddison.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” she said with a studied neutrality. “He's not at home at the moment. Would you care to leave a message?”

“Who is it, Phoebe?” called a voice behind her.

She turned her head to answer. “It's a Mr. Simms, sir, to see Mr. Maddison.” Although her voice didn't change, Simms guessed she was unhappy or angry about something. Perhaps it was the set to the corner of her mouth or the rigidity of her shoulders.

“Oh, really?” asked the voice from a little closer. Then Simms heard footsteps, and a tall, thin man in his mid-fifties appeared behind her. He was bald, with brown spots on his head and face, and he had a nose like a parrot's beak. It was probably Maddison's friend Auerbach; he matched the description. “Perhaps I can help you Mr...?”

“Detective, actually. Simms. I'm with the police department.”

“I see. And what brings you out here, Detective?”

“That's something I'd rather discuss with Mr. Maddison. Will he be back soon?”

“I don't know...” said Baldie.

“Perhaps you should come in and wait?” The old woman smiled; her teeth shone perfectly and un-naturally white and even in her wizened face. “Have a nice cup of coffee?”

“Thank you, but I really need to—”

“No, that's no good," the bald man said brusquely. “You know we never know when he's coming back.”

The old woman shrugged with the barely suppressed scowl returning to the corners of her mouth, but said nothing.

“Of course," Auerbach continued, "you may come in if you want to wait for him, but...”

“I understand,” Simms said quickly.

“Do you have a number he can reach you at?” the old woman asked.

“Ah.” Simms reached under his topcoat, into his jacket pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to her.

She glanced at it. “I'll see he gets it, thank you,” she said, putting it in her apron pocket.

Simms left.

************************************

Brian braced his hands against the wall and bowed his head under the nozzle to let the hot water run over his head and neck and down his face. The stall door opened and closed behind him. A moment later he felt Justin's soapy hands running over his back, circling lower, higher, now over his neck and shoulders, now along his sides, his buttocks, thighs and calves, and then back up to start over again.

The glass wall shivered, and Justin muttered a curse. “You couldn't have had this shower made a _little_ bigger? I keep bumping my ass on the glass, and it's fucking cold.”

“I _can_ wash myself.”

“Yeah, but do you want to?”

“Point.” He shrugged and rolled his shoulders. “Not going to ask how I'm feeling?”

“Are you going to say anything besides 'fine'?”

“No.”

Justin soaped up the washcloth and began scrubbing him.

“I'm surprised you're not complaining about all these people staying the night,” said Brian.

“It's your apartment. If they bother me, I'll just go back to my place.”

Yeah, right. Brian smirked a little, to himself. “Do you think they're going to bother you?”

“Andy's even more of a geek than Michael.”

Still smiling, Brian shook his head slowly. “We should introduce them.”

“And watch the fireworks? Oh, _that_ _'ll_ be fun. Rona's kind of a pain too.

“Not the renfair chick?”

“Who?

“You know, the first one.”

“Kennedy?”

“Is that her name?” Brian shrugged.

“She's OK, I guess. Emmett likes her.”

“Emmett likes everybody. You could introduce him to Jack the Ripper, and Emmett'd try to see his good points.”

“True. Turn.” Brian obeyed; Justin began to soap his front as he'd done the back. “It's funny, isn't it? Emmett calling the bad guys 'monsters.' It just doesn't seem like him.”

“Yeah. Weird,” said Brian. “And... Why didn't he go straight to Carl, he's so buddy-buddy with him?”

Justin scowled. “I asked; they're not talking. But I think that Xander-guy getting kidnapped right out of Carl's station is a big, fat, hairy clue.”

“What?”

“It was all over the news this morning while you were in here. And the guys that did it? They put Carl's partner in the hospital.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.” Justin grimaced. “Everything's crazy. Deb's been just about going nuts looking for Emmett since Saturday. She was sure he was in some kind of trouble because some guy tried to grab him last week, and now I—”

“She never told me that.”

“She was here?”

“Yeah, she came by while you were out shopping. She thought I might know something.”

“You didn't tell— You didn't make her sock you again, did you?”

“No. No, I learned my lesson. Don't you think that's taking this 'babying' thing a little too far?” Brian asked as Justin knelt on one knee before him, lifted one of his feet and began to scrub it.

“TLC, man. It's all part of the service.”

Brian swatted at him. “I'll 'service' you!”

“Oooh! Feelin' frrrisky are we?”

Silence.

“I was kidding, OK?” Justin glanced up to see Brian staring off into space. “It's just a stupid quote from a stupid movie. Just forget it.”

“What?” Brian focused back on him and said, “I only felt like upchucking once today. I think I'll go to work tomorrow.”

A smile spread across Justin's face like a slow sunrise. “Oh.” A second later, the soapy washcloth plastered itself across Brian's chest. “Then how about you wash your own damn feet?”

************************************

Xander closed the cell phone and handed it back to Zarrah. “OK guys, just real quick, while they're in the shower? Don't break any more of Brian's stuff.” He glanced at Andrew and then Rona. “And for the love of God, don't stop up his toilet.”

“Oh, get over it,” said Rona. The rest of them stared at her. “OK, fine! What did Giles say? And he's going to ask _who_ about those damn birds tomorrow?”

Xander continued, “Dent's landlord. Simms told him Robin knew Dent's cousin, gave him his number… So he called Robin a couple hours ago. He wants to talk to a member of Dent's family to ask what he should do about what's left of Dent's things.”

Rona looked puzzled. “Oh, OK...”

“And Dent's cousin lives in 'England'.” Xander grinned. “It's about four in the morning there right now, so he has to wait five, six, seven hours before he can call. Giles wanted to know if anything new'd come up we needed him to ask about.”

Faith frowned, “Who's Dent's cousin?”

“Giles. No, he really is. On both sides. They're going to do the same ring-a-ding they did when Simms called Dent's 'old friend' to hide that he's really in America, but if anybody has a right to Dent's stuff, Giles does.”

“If there's anything left worth having,” said Kennedy.

“Well... Yeah.” He shrugged. “But who knows, there may be more clues. We've come too far to give up now.”

“Later,” said Faith. “Right now? I'm more into what we're going to do about the local vamps. Nice work burning down their lair. Only, how're we going to find them again?”

“That's not a problem.” Xander's mouth crooked in a thin, wry smile. “They'll come when I call, don't you worry. I've got what they want.”

“Great, let's do it.” She leaned forward, as if to get up.

He motioned her back. “Not yet. We have to find a good place for—” He cut himself off at the sound of the bathroom door opening. Clouds of steam poured out, followed by Brian and Justin in towels. Brian was looking well... And alert. Time to change the topic. “And I want to check out Wheatly Maddison. He—”

“That asshole?” asked Brian. “What do you want with him?”

“You _know_ him?” asked Emmett.

“Yeah. Remember when Chief Stockwell was running for mayor?”

Emmett made a face. “How could I forget?”

“Maddison was one of his big contributors.”

“Madison gave money to Stockwell,” said Kennedy, sat up straight and rubbed her fingertips together. “That's veeeery iiiinnnteresssting. Maddison gave money to the Chief of Police. Don't any of you think that's very interesting?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” Xander grinned savagely. “How well did you know them?”

Brian shrugged. “I got to know Stockwell pretty well when I was managing his ad campaign. I met Madison at his fundraisers a few times. Like I said, he's an asshole.”

“You actually worked for that guy?” Kennedy asked. “You helped him run for mayor? Funny, you don't _look_ like a self-hating fag.”

“No, I'm a money-loving fag. And I loved taking money away from Stockwell.”

“Until he got you fired for being queee-er,” Justin sing-songed in Brian's ear, slipping his arms around Brian's waist. “It was the _worst_ timing. We were right there,” he pointed at a spot on the floor, “And he knocks just as Brian's about to do me.”

“I got fired—” Brian wrapped his arm around Justin's shoulders and wrestled him around to 'noogie' his head “—for helping _you_ sabotage his campaign.”

“That too.” A seraph couldn't look more innocent than Justin did just then.

“And for making the 'Concerned Citizens for the Truth's ads,” Emmett added.

“I did that _after_ I got fired,” said Brian, letting Justin go.

“The guys that ruined Stockwell's campaign? You worked for them too?” she asked.

Justin smirked. “Doll, he _was_ them.”

“Oh, this just gets better and better,” said Xander. “What can you tell us about Reikert and the Kemp murder?”

Brian leaned against the doorjam. “What do you want to know?”

“Wait a minute.” Faith held out her hand to stop him. “Who are all these people?”

************************************

Brian woke up at about two in the morning, and he was actually feeling hungry. Maybe some more of that juice or a bagel... Justin grumbled and turned over as he slid out from under his arm. The air was full of the sounds of sleeping people; one of the girls was snoring away in the corner where they'd bedded down. Without turning on the light, he eased his way around the bed and over to the door nearest the kitchen. One of his guests was awake; Xander was sitting at the counter, doing something under the light of Justin's table lamp. When Brian came closer, he saw that he was whittling on a stick with some kind of pocket knife or multi-tool. “Hey,” he said quietly.

“Back at you,” Xander murmured. “You're up?”

“Hungry. Couldn't sleep.” There was a new pint bottle of carrot-apple juice in the fridge. Brian shook it, uncapped it and took a swig as he watched Xander work. “What're you making?”

“I'm just fooling around. I never did anything with juniper before, and I wanted to get a feel for it.”

Brian glanced at the stick. “What do you think?”

“Well... It smells really great; I like the contrast between the heartwood and the sapwood, and the way the grain swirls. Hm... It seems about as strong as you can reasonably expect a softwood to be—” He held the ends of the stick and bent it. “—but it's more flexible than anything else I can remember working on. I'm not sure that it's finished drying out, though, so that might change.”

“What would you do with it?”

“Oh, if you got big enough pieces, it might make a nice veneer or inlay... If it glues and finishes well enough. I'd use it for furniture, boxes... stuff like that. It might be OK for making instruments, although that's not really my thing.”

“Still thinking about doing this with the rest of your life?”

Xander shrugged, silent.

When Brian saw that he wasn't going to respond, he went on, “Oh, just a thought; that message on the bookshelves? 'Any old moron' wouldn't have figured _that_ out.”

Xander dismissed this with a wave of his knife-hand. “Somebody else would have gotten it eventually.”

“You think so?”

“Hey, don't let our weirdness fool you. I work with some really smart people.”

“This isn't about being smart, this's about instinct. People either got it, or they don't, and you've got it. Haven't you ever noticed your guesses are right more of than wrong? Even the loony ones. Especially them. You don't even think about it, do you?”

“Thanks, I think,” Xander muttered. “You make me sound like Rainman or something—If it were true, which it isn't.”

“I've got twenty that says you're the one who finally finds where that guy hid his books. Think any of them,” he jerked his head to indicate the others sleeping around the room, “want to bet I'm wrong?”

Xander scowled down at the juniper stick as he slowly shaved another paper-thin curl off the pointy end of it. “I bet this would machine well.”

“Have it your way.” Brian drained the bottle and put it in the sink. “But if you don't take that friend of yours up on his offer, it won't be because you _can't_ do the job. Nighty-night.”

Brian was still awake when Xander turned off the lamp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reposted) For people who want to know what Dent put on the posts. This was what was originally written down:
> 
> DERAEFISATSUISITDIASOHUUUOUI  
> SEIDDRAEBIMNISTSENRIEHTTLIUBLLAEUAHRIB  
> ODDRAEBAHTIUUNAMDLONASAUUEREHT  
> EHTNERUUADNASCRALROUFUUOLLOF  
> SIHTNEBONEHADNASLUUOOUUTOTTNAUU
> 
> But they were reading from top to bottom when they should have been reading the other way.
> 
> IUOUUUHOSIADTISJUSTASIFEARED  
> BIRHAUEALLBUILTTHEIRNESTSINMYBEARDDIES  
> THEREUUASANOLDMANUUITHABEARDDO  
> FOLLOUUFOURLARCSANDAUURENTHE  
> UUANTTOTUUOOUULSANDAHENOBENTHIS
> 
> There were only twenty letters in the old Ogham alphabet: B, L, F, S, N, H, D, T, C, Q, M, G, nG, Z, R, A, O, U, E and I. J, K, V, W, X, Y and Z had to be expressed by those letters too, so J⇒I, K⇒C, V⇒U, W⇒UU, X wasn't used, and Y⇒IU. 'P' was also represented by birch leaves when it finally emerged. Working backwards, the lines become:
> 
> YOUWHOSAIDTISJUSTASIFEARED  
> BIRHAVEALLBUILTTHEIRNESTSINMYBEARDDIES  
> THEREWASANOLDMANWITHABEARDDO  
> FOLLOWFOURLARKSANDAHENTHE  
> WANTTOTWOOWLSANDAHENOPENTHIS
> 
> This is probably looking familiar by now, but the lines are out of order:
> 
> THEREWASANOLDMANWITHABEARDDO  
> YOUWHOSAIDTISJUSTASIFEARED  
> WANTTOTWOOWLSANDAHENOPENTHIS  
> FOLLOWFOURLARKSANDAHENTHE  
> BIRHAVEALLBUILTTHEIRNESTSINMYBEARDDIES
> 
> And there was an extra line put in at the beginnings and ends of the original limerick:
> 
> There was an old man with a beard,  
> Who said, “'tis just as I feared,  
> Two owls and a wren,  
> Four larks and a hen,  
> Have all built their nests in my beard.”
> 
> Do you want to open this? Follow the birdies.


	30. Maneuvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone has a plan.

Brian woke at about seven to the sounds of his guests trying to be quiet and a distinct lack of Justin in his bed. And rustling paper. Justin was sitting on the steps to the sleeping area, scribbling furiously in his sketchbook. On walking over to find out what was holding his boyfriend's attention, he saw that Xander, Kennedy and Andrew were doing something like tai chi, but with swords. Emmett was watching from the futon he'd shared with Andrew the night before, and two of the girls—Rona and Zarrah—were sitting at the kitchen counter.

“No, no, no,” Kennedy said softly. “The strength moves up through your feet. Feet move the body, the body moves the arms and the arms move the sword. You're not chopping carrots now. Watch Xander.”

This seemed like good advice to Brian; even his untutored eye could see that the other man moved with smooth confidence, the play of muscles under the white wifebeater he was wearing hinting at latent power. On the scale of things worth waking up early to see, this had to be at least an eight.

He glanced at Justin's sketchbook.

OK, maybe a nine.

She shook her head. “Try it again with your feet farther apart.”

“I can do this.” Andrew bit his lip and began to swing his sword a little more slowly than before.

Kennedy stopped him again after a few minutes. “OK, that was a bit better—”

“Really?” thought Brian.

“—but you're not ready for swords yet. Don't look at me like that. Who's your coach? Give it.” She held out her hand, and after a moment, Andrew passed it to her, hilt first. "Again. From the beginning, and watch your feet.” He was still pouting, but she'd already turned to Emmett, who had retreated back under his blankets. She kicked one of the corners at the foot of the mattress on her way to stow the sword in the weapons bag. “Rise and shine!”

Emmett's head popped out from under the covers. “Forget it! I am not practicing 'falling down' in here.”

“'Course not; this floor's way too hard for that. We'll just work on your balance. Now get moving.” She frowned down at him and tapped her toes impatiently on the floor until he'd dragged himself out from under the covers.

“Fine. Slavedriver,” he muttered as he stumbled toward the bedroom steps.

“Just where do you think you're going?”

“To take a leak! If you don't mind?” Muttering under his breath, he swept past Brian on his way to the bathroom.

So. Morning. He was up, he was shut out of the bathroom, he was... He was actually hungry. He went to join the girls at the counter. Rona, looking grumpy, was slumped over a cup of coffee, Zarrah had eaten about half of her bowl of cornflakes, but mostly she was watching Xander with a dopey smile on her face. Rona nudged the cereal box and the milk over in front of the empty seat when she saw that Brian was getting a bowl out.

“So, you guys get this kind of floorshow every morning? Nice.”

“Mm-hmmm,” said Rona.

“Mmm-mmm-mmm,” added Zarrah.

“Where's your friend?”

“She went for a run.” Zarrah tilted her bowl to get the last spoonful of milk and cereal out.

“Too bad. She's missing a good thing.”

Zarrah just shrugged, but Rona looked up at him through her eyebrows and snorted, “You got _that_ right.”

“What was that about last night, anyway?” Zarrah said softly as she poured herself some more cereal and milk.

“What?” Brian was a little annoyed to hear his own voice had gone as quiet as hers.

“When Justin said that thing about that killer cop?”

Brian instantly knew what she was referring to. He'd just told them about how Horvath had found Reikert after he'd kacked himself rather than let the truth come out about Stockwell covering up for him—interesting how nothing he'd said seemed to surprise them at all—and then Andrew had wondered whether maybe Reikert'd committed suicide because he'd felt at least a little sorry for what he'd done to Jason Kemp.

“Sorry my lily-white ass!” Justin had exploded. “He fucked him, strangled him and threw him away like garbage 'cause he _could_. I hope he rots in Hell.”

Faith had looked... weird. Frozen. Andrew had looked like a bunny in the headlights too, and then Xander had blurted out some question about Maddison. The three of them had been quiet for a long time after that, not that the others had seemed to mind—or even notice—at the time.

“I don't know.” Rona looked at Brian. “You?”

“Me?”

Zarrah was looking at him too. “You and him were talking about something last night.”

“Oh, yeah. We got all cozy, braided each other's hair, shared all our deepest secrets.”

She winced.

“What, you think us queers are girls except with dicks?” Brian snorted. “Think again.”

Rona smirked and elbowed Zarrah in the side. “Told you.”

“Drink your coffee.”

The three of them ate their breakfast in silence. Emmett came out. Kennedy set him to posing in the same positions as Andrew. It was pretty obvious that Emmett had much more affinity for the exercise than his little friend; 'graceful' was a good look for him. Brian settled back to enjoy the show. But if Andrew was amusing, and Xander and Emmett were eye-candy, Kennedy was a revelation. She possessed her body utterly with a pantherine grace. At one point—without warning—she turned a standing backflip, and when Emmett complained that she couldn't possibly expect him to do that, she apologized saying that she was feeling a little stiff and needed to warm up. And they all moved like that, all the girls.

He put his bowl in the sink and went to get ready for work.

************************************

Brian was snugging his tie when Justin came in. He closed the bathroom door behind him and leaned back against it with one hand in his jeans pocket and holding his sketchbook in the other while he waited for Brian to get his 'look' just right. “Suit?”

“Yup. New ideas for Rage?” Brian asked, nodding at the reflection of the drawings.

“Yeah, Michael's going to plotz.” He sighed theatrically. “Too bad Xander isn't very...”

“You could name him 'Straightman'.” Brian turned and grinned at him.

Justin felt his own face widen in an answering smile. “I'll see what he says. So you're really going in to work today?”

“Ted's probably done enough damage, don't you think?”

Tension he hadn't even known he was still carrying seemed to flow right out of him, leaving only... disappointment? “But, Emmett's thing, and those guys? Aren't you even a little curious?”

“Nope.”

Oh, he totally was lying.

“But—”

“No,” said Brian firmly.

“Don't you want to—”

“Not even remotely.” He pulled Justin close for a quick kiss and a grope, swatted him on the ass and sidled past him. “See you later.”

He was whistling when he left.

************************************

As it turned out, Xander hadn't needed to worry about Brian finding out too much after all; he'd tossed a set of keys to Emmett and gone to work. Looked pretty chipper too. Justin? It was going to take something more to shake him loose—and Xander really wanted to shake him loose. Some things had come through loud and clear during the Q and A session the night before: Brian was smart, and so was Justin. Brian had a ruthless streak, and so did Justin. Brian had a very active instinct for when and how to fight his battles, and Justin... Justin's curiosity exceeded his sense of self-preservation by far. After Faith had come back from her run, Xander had asked Zarrah to take the credit card and Justin to replace the phones Andrew had smashed, but it didn't really work out as well as he'd hoped. They returned after barely an hour, giving Xander and the other slayers only enough time to finish getting through the showers and start the briefing.

“Sorry,” Zarrah muttered to Xander while Justin was pottering about in the bedroom. “I tried to slow him down, but he just wouldn't.”

Xander glanced toward the bedroom. “Don't worry about it; we'll go somewhere else if we have to.”

“Like?” Kennedy growled.

And it was a fair point; the PPD having spread his ugly mug all over town, not even the library was safe. Maybe he could wear a fake mustache... Justin walked over to the futon nearest the door and sat down cross-legged on it looking like he was thinking of growing roots—and why not 'cause, hey, the guy lived here, and they didn't. It'd take blasting power to get him out, and they didn't have any—not that Xander would have used it 'cause talk about your overkill? Maybe it was time to check out the roof again.

“So, did we miss anything?” Justin asked brightly.

“No, not really,” Xander glanced at the others. “We're just chillin' out.”

“You guys going to talk to Maddison?”

“I, we, uh... I hadn't really thought about it.”

“Uh-huh. Well, don't let me stop you, you guys just keep on 'chillin' out'.”

Emmett took a deep breath. “Justin—”

Rrring!

Justin started and then settled again.

Rrring!

Well, at least the new phones were working.

Rrring!

“Aren't you going to get that?” Emmett asked.

Rrring!

“That's what the answering ma—”

Rrring!

“—chine's for.”

Zarrah a pointed at it. “You didn't hook—”

Rrring!

“—it up.”

Rrring!

“Maybe it's Brian,” Xander felt a pang of guilt at Justin's sudden worried expression.

Rrring!

“Shit!” He snatched the handset up out of the cradle.

“Bugs!” Zarrah hissed.

He waved her away. “Bri—? Oh, hi. ...No, no problem. He's fine. He went to work—”

He winced and held it away from his ear. Xander may not have been able to hear any words, but he could recognize the dulcet tones of Debbie Novotny when he heard them. One order of blasting powder, coming right up, he hoped.

Her voice stilled, and Justin brought the handset back to his ear. “Yeah, I know. I had some things... Look, I couldn't call because—because the phones... I thought you were off double shifts... Oh. Can't Matt... What? What an asshole!...Yeah, yeah, I know...”

He looked at the others and bit his lip. Emmett shook his head. Xander did his best to look sympathetic but uncooperative. It seemed to work; Justin frowned at him and then sighed huffily as the fight went out of him.

OK, fine. Private Taylor reporting for hash-slinging duty ASAP. _Jawohl, mein Kommandant_!” He hung up as another spate of shouting came from the phone.

Emmett raised his eyebrows. “Another crisis?”

“The same old one. Rick didn't come in; no call, no warning, and she can't get anybody else. So she's stuck there until I show up. The prick.” He started pulling his coat on as he went to the door.

Emmett tsked. “It's a good thing you're doing; she's been working herself half to death since Vic passed. She really needs a better job.”

“Yeah, let me pull one of those right out of my ass.”

He paused at the door, looking as though he wanted to ask them something, but in the end, he only left.

“Whew,” said Rona, “I thought he'd never go.”

“He only wants to help,” said Emmett.

“Totally not happening.” Rona waved dismissively and looked back at Xander. “So what happened then? And do you think you could find the place they took you to again?”

“Maybe, but I'm not sure there'd be any point going there. It wasn't their nest, and—”

“That was the place you set on fire?” Kennedy asked.

Zarrah perked up. “What's this?”

“Uh, Brad, the chief vampire guy? His lair was a mini-mansion in the 'burbs out east. I kind of set it on fire while I was getting away.”

“It was all—”

“Brad? What kind—”

“—over the news—”

“—dumb name—”

“—yesterday morning.”

“—bad-ass vampire?”

Zarrah and Andrew glared at each other.

“He wanted me to call him that,” Xander said hastily. “Anyway, he's not there any more.”

“Not after all those dead bodies turned up in the toolshed,” added Emmett. “What are the police going to do if they ever catch him?”

“Get killed. Which is why we have to get them first.”

************************************

Phoebe wasn't as fast as she used to be, mostly because of her knees, but she was as good a tactician as ever. At the sound of nearing footsteps, she scuttled silently into position just inside the parlor doorway, waiting until he was too near the front door to escape from her easily. He was two feet from it when she pounced.

“You almost forgot your hat, Mr. Langston.” She blocked his way, holding the discarded object out to him.

“No, I didn't.”

She sniffed. It had been many a year since young Mr. Auerbach had had any hair on his head; he needed a hat in weather like this. Besides, in her day, only beatniks and bums would have been seen in public without one. And on the topic of bums…

“Have you seen Mr. Maddison yet today?”

“Nope.”

She looked at him sternly.

“My life does not revolve around Wheatly's schedule. I suppose you gave him that card?”

“Of course, Sir. I gave it to him at breakfast.”

“...You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

Enjoy seeing Mr. Wheatly Maddison sought after for questioning? Again? Of course. “No, Sir. Not at all.”

“Well, go on. Say it.”

“Sir?”

“'I told you so.' I know that's what you're thinking.”

“I wouldn't dream of such a thing, Sir.”

“But you're thinking it; all those 'Sirs' give you away. How'd he take it?”

“Well, I think.” Better than she'd hoped, actually. He'd only bitten off a curse and hurled the toast he'd just buttered at Langston's old German shepherd. It was going to be weeks before Loki stopped begging at the table again…

He looked at her narrowly. “I wish you wouldn't antagonize him, Phoebe.”

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Sir.” Denial was worth the try, she supposed, even though after fifty years, he knew her at least as well as she knew him.

“Back to 'Sir' again? You know exactly what I mean. Stop trying to get Wheatly's goat; that's an order. You don't know what he's capable of.”

She'd never understood why Langston had invited that parasite into his home, but—

“He—he isn't... threatening you in any way, is he?”

Langston's sudden bark of laughter made her jump. “Wheatly? Threaten me? A likely story. Now, I'm going to be out for several hours, so don't wait supper for me. I won't be back until late.”

“And where shall I say you've gone if anybody asks?”

“That's nobody's business any more, is it?”

“It could be, if you'd only—”

“Money can't buy what Dolores and I had,” he said bitterly. “You're just going to have to settle for getting Jane married off.”

“Yes, Mr. Langston,” she sighed. He'd been such a sweet boy, but so stubborn once he'd made up his mind... And him being as homely as a mud turtle didn't help.

“Oh...” He bit his lip.

She looked at him hopefully.

“I'm going the same place I always go.”

“It's so cold there. Why won't you—”

“All right! Give me the damned hat!”

It was as much as she could hope for, these days.

************************************

Emmett had always hated being out of the loop, and the taste he'd had of it since meeting Andrew and the others hadn't made it any more welcome. Of course, the facts he'd found out so far hadn't been what he'd expected, but if it came to a choice between knowledge or ignorance... Well, the jury was out on that. However, he was still relieved when Zarrah had proposed rigging up a speaker phone so that everyone'd be able to hear Xander's conversation with this Giles person. She'd been fussing around with her laptop, the cables and her cell phone for the last ten minutes.

Finally, she handed the cell to Xander. “OK, we're good to go. Be careful you don't pull the cable out or knock over the mic.”

“Thanks.”

They were silent while Xander pressed out a long-distance number and as the phone on the other end rang three times.

“ _Hallo_?” said a masculine British voice. Emmett had to admit that Andrew had been right when he'd said Giles had a nice accent; it certainly put a shiver down _his_ spine.

“Giles?”

“ _Ah, Xander. Everything all right there_?”

“Yup. How'd it go?”

“ _Swimmingly. They traced Porter's call, of course, but our ruse threw them off. I'm in Kent, for all they know_.”

“Good. Great. Anything new we can use?”

“ _Perhaps. According to Porter, the thieves left some of Dent's papers behind: photo albums and such. The police found them in the bath_.”

Xander blinked. “In the... What? Why?”

“ _Our villains probably put them there with the intention of drowning them, but they either forgot to turn on the tap, or they changed their minds. I gave him Craye's address in England, and he's already sent them on. When we get them, we can—_ ”

“That'll take forever!” yelped Rona.

There was a moment of silence from the computer speakers. “ _Rona_?”

“Zarrah rigged it so we could all talk,” Xander said hastily.

“ _Oh, I see. Well, that should save us some time_.”

“Speaking of? How long is getting Dent's stuff going to take us?”

“ _Not long at all_.” He sounded pleased. “ _Porter posted them shortly after our call, and Willow had the shipper's computer re-direct it to Mr. Kinney's address—_ ”

“That's my girl!” Kennedy crowed.

“ _Indeed. They should arrive by tomorrow morning at the latest_.”

“Outstanding.” Xander grinned. “I love it when a plan comes together.”

“ _Ah... And that would be_?”

“Ambush. We haven't figured out where yet, but our trusty native guide here's going to help us set it up.”

“Me?” squeaked Emmett.

“Yeah, sorry. Like I started to tell you last night; luring the vampires in is the easy part. The hard part's choosing the best killing ground to lure them to 'cause none of us know Pittsburgh.”

“ _I see_.” Giles coughed lightly. “ _Good, er, good hunting, then_.”

“Is Willow there?” Kennedy asked.

“ _No, I don't think so. She said something about needing supplies earlier_.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Oh, well. Later, I guess.”

They said their goodbyes, and hung up. Emmett waited until Zarrah and the rest were busy dismantling the phone setup to ask Xander, “And what bait are you planning to...”

“Brad likes me. He really, _really_ likes me.”

“But, Xander!” Andrew yelped, aghast—an emotion Emmett wholly shared.

“Oh, you're not thinking of sticking yourself on that hook!”

Xander's grin turned disturbingly feral. “Buddy, I'm sticking both of us on there.”

************************************

Giles studied the column of figures and added them up again, frowning. If this was true— the crash of a door flung open and the racket of pounding feet in the hall startled him from his contemplation of the outrageous grocery accounts. His own door was flung open before he could put down his pencil.

“'Willow?” Giles saw with alarm that she was red-faced and panting.

“Giles! Hang it up! Hang it up right now!”

“The phone? I already have. Why—”

“The call was tapped. I felt it all the way out at the store. I barely managed to stop the them before they could— What are you doing?”

“They've been found. We have to warn them.”

“Warn them not to call us; the trace was coming from here.”

He looked at her blankly.

“From _Cleveland_.”

“Oh, dear.”

************************************

By seven o'clock, Debbie's resolve to not eat dessert—for once—had evaporated. She dug her spoon in again for just one more bite of rocky road... Aw, who the heck was she kidding? This whole pint was going straight to her already-humongous ass. And maybe the chunky monkey after it. She sighed. How shitty had this week been? Melanie: attacked. Emmett: attacked and now gone God knew where. That nice kid who saved Melanie: kidnapped. Brian had cancer and maybe was still in danger... And she missed Carl. It was stupid and selfish, and she couldn't help it. She was scraping moodily at the bottom of the ice cream carton when the phone rang.

“ _Debbie_?”

“Emmett!” Her spoon clattered to the floor. “Where the holy fuck have you been? I called the cops!”

“ _Oh. Carl_? _Is he still seeing what's-her-name_?”

“Yes, thank you so much for reminding me. Why don't you smack me in the face with a pie? 'Cause that would make me feel even better.”

“ _Sorry_.”

She counted to ten and took a deep breath to calm herself. “Are you OK?”

“ _Oh, yeah_.”

“Well?”

“ _What_?”

“Where. The. Hell. Were. You. Since. Friday!”

“ _Oh, uh... Remember that party I was totally spazzing over_?”

“The jock? Yeah.” Then the penny dropped; she smacked her open palm against her forehead. “You met somebody.” Carl was never going to let her live this down.

“ _How did you guess_? _Well, I seriously needed to de-stress after the party, and he told me he had this cute little log cabin out in the country. I just couldn't resist_.”

She gritted her teeth. “He better be worth not fucking calling me for almost a goddamn week!”

“ _I'm so,_ _ **so**_ _sorry. My cell died. And the cabin didn't have a phone. And then we got snowed in_.”

“Sounds cozy.”

And the little schmuck had the balls to giggle. “ _It's been memorable_.”

“What's his name? And when do I get to meet him?”

“ _His name's— Oh, no. Deb, I have to cut this short. Is Carl still looking for that one-eyed man_?”

“Shit, yeah! Why?”

“ _We stopped for a bite, and there he was_! _He just went to pay his check. I wanted to know if I should follow him. Tell Carl— Crap, he's leaving. I'll call you back soon_.”

“Wait! Em—” The dial tone cut her off before she could warn him. She sat stunned for a moment, and then hung up the receiver, picked it up again and began to dial. “Hello, can you put me through to Detective Carl Horvath, please? This is about Xander Harris; that guy that was grabbed out of your garage Monday. No, I can't hold! Tell him to call me back.”

************************************

“There. It's done. But the police are going to be on their way as soon as Deb tells Carl, you know.” Emmett rubbed his hands on his forearms to take the chill off as he followed Xander back into the nearly empty truckstop diner. “They're going to be all over this place once they check her phone records, and you said you wanted to keep them away from those—those things.”

“It doesn't matter. Brad and his merry men should be on their way already. Hi, guys! Did you miss us?”

The rest of the gang were still sitting in the booth at the back. He had to wait for the girls to pile out before he could reclaim his seat across from Andrew.

Xander added as the girls pulled their coats on, “It's a gamble, but it's going to take the cops a while to get it together, especially if Horvath is out.

“I don't know how you can say that; you wouldn't let me tell Debbie which way you were supposed to have gone.”

“Scent.” He made a face. “Brad knows what I smell like. They can track like that.” He nodded to Kennedy and the rest. “Ten minutes. You know where.”

She grinned and bounced lightly on her toes. “On it, Boss.”

“I hope they don't take too long,” added Faith. “It's colder than a welfare worker's heart out there.”

Xander sighed. “For all I know, the big cheese is all the way across town. This could be a long wait.”

“It'll take as long as it'll take,” said Kennedy.

“I wish we could go do our waiting in that Motel 6 up the road,” said Zarrah.

Rona punched her shoulder. “Someone's got a cru-ush.”

“Shut up! I do not!”

“You've got a crush o—.”

“Rona?”

“Yeah, Xan?”

“Knock it off. She doesn't want to hang around in a truck yard in the middle of the night, and neither do I.”

Rona's smile was dazzling. “Aw, I was just kidding.” Her smile changed to a stern scowl as she wagged a minatory finger at Emmett and Andrew. “You two even think of breaking your promise, I will break your legs. Stay put. Stay out of sight. Stay out of trouble.”

The four slayers swept out the door. Xander ambled up to pay the bill—in cash—and followed them out a few minutes later.

“Would she really do that?” asked Emmett.

Andrew shook his head. “No, but she has ways of making you wish she had. Um, Emmett?”

“Yeah?”

“Why would anyone hold parties in a semi?”

Emmett felt an uncharacteristic flush creeping across his face. He coughed. “Well...”

************************************

“...yes, yes,” The MoP purred into the phone, “I see. Watch, and make sure none of them leave the area. I will come to collect them myself. And if the caterer's new boyfriend interferes? Kill him.” He hung up and turned to Wheatly. “You should be getting your chance sooner than you thought.”

“Found your strays?”

“Yes. We'll have them back before too long. ”

“That's quite a piece of luck for you: Honeycutt's calling that old fag hag and telling her he saw your missing prize.”

“Luck? Some might call it that. I call it 'being prepared'.”

“What do you suppose he's doing there, anyway?”

“Oh,” the MoP smiled, “You'd be surprised at the amount of night life that goes on there. Although, I confess, it hadn't occurred to me to look there, and it should have. Stuart often goes to places like that for his meals. He has low tastes.”

“Which one's he? And more important, do you think they've turned Harris?”

“He's the whiny one.” The MoP scowled. “Turned him? They should have. Blood as delicious as his is well-nigh irresistible, and those idiots shouldn't have realized how much value he had alive. But, I must admit, what they've been able to do so far does suggest that they're smarter than I took them for. Not that it makes any difference. I have other irons in the fire.”

Bert shuffled uneasily. “Sire, what if it's a trap?

“If? Of course it's a trap,” the Master grinned hungrily. “But they don't know we know it, or that we're bringing a magician along to even the score.”

“So delighted to be of service,” murmured Wheatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since the last update. I didn't get everything done for the semester until a couple days ago. Also, I'm going on a loooong vacation in a few days (Yay!) and probably won't have access to computers until I get back. (Boo!) The next bit should come out in late August.
> 
> As usual, please give feedback or questions in the comments if the spirit moves you!


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